A Dull Woman's Van Life

Mid-October 2025

The golden days grow shorter, the mornings darker — yet autumn still burns bright. A tawny owl, a crown of fiery leaves, and the whisper of running water remind me that beauty lingers, even as the year turns toward its close.

When Autumn Comes

When autumn comes, the earth exhales,

A breath of gold through thinning veils.

The sunlight leans, the shadows climb,

And hush descends on passing time.

The trees unlace their summer gown,

And scatter fire upon the ground.

Each falling leaf, a soft goodbye —

Each dawn, a flame against the sky.

As we creep further into October, the mornings grow darker with each passing day. When I set off for my walk, the world is still wrapped in shadow, and it’s midway through my route before the sun finally lifts above the hills — spilling its light across the valley in a slow, golden reveal.

The storms of last weekend have stripped most of the trees bare, carpeting the ground in a mosaic of red, orange, and yellow. Yet my favourite tree stands proud, wearing her golden crown. As the sun rose this morning, she caught the first light and blazed like fire, her leaves turning from gold to a deep, glowing red.

Perched upon a telegraph pole, a tawny owl watched us in silence as we climbed the hill, its round eyes unblinking in the half-light, before it swooped gracefully back into the shelter of the trees.

Mid walk, the sun broke through the clouds, flooding the sky with orange flame and bathing the valley in that fleeting, perfect light that autumn does best.

The long, warm summer has left a generous harvest — the hawthorns hang heavy with berries, soon to be stripped bare by the migrant flocks returning for winter. A few redwings are already here, and I excitedly await the fieldfare and, hopefully, waxwings which will join us throughout the coming weeks to feast on the abundant berries.

In the lower fields, deer have come down from the high ground, their silhouettes shifting through the bracken as they forage in the damp morning air. I caught this Roe on the rainy hillside during my afternoon wander with Pepper.

The brooks are running full again, the clear water chattering over stone as it winds down the valley toward the River Ogden, and onward still, to feed the Irwell. It’s a quiet reminder that even as the year turns, the pulse of the land keeps flowing — steady, unhurried, eternal.

And so the season deepens. Each walk feels like a small farewell — to warmth, to light, to the easy days of summer — yet also a welcome. For there is beauty in the soft decay, in the shimmer of frost waiting in the wings, and in the quiet company of the wild. The valley changes, and I change with it, one golden morning at a time.