Autumn has entered the scene suddenly, as if summoned urgently by the stage director. I had wondered where all the turning leaves might been but today I see that they have burst upon us, as if by stealth, with a palette comprising, yellows, red and oranges (see next post).

Having a garden that is a little like a park, I am conscious of all the movement in the trees and bushes, the subtle and sudden changes, that occur over the four seasons. Being at a higher altitude than Sydney we do experience a greater clarity as one time of change blends into another.

Autumn, as I have said before, is my favourite season - one of richness and then decline, a prelude to the appearance of ever-thieving winter. It is a sweet yet mournful harmony to my own slight melancholy, but unlike the season, there is no chance of Spring's revival in me.

Never mind, winter is not yet upon me.