stories and lentils

These past few months have passed by slowly. A gentle easing out of summer. Almost imperceptibly, the nights grew colder, the days shorter and the leaves transformed into flaming reds and golds and yellows and then, at their most beautiful, they silently let go and fell to carpet the paths and roadside verges. We’ve hiked, spent time with friends, failed miserably to forage mushrooms, discovered newly favourite sweet chestnut trees and marveled at the patchwork of autumnal colours, as we did last year and will, undoubtedly, do so again next year. This is our third Autumn here. I’ve been surprised at how the short space of time we have been here, each season awakens memories, as if we have been here much longer. We climb the hill to the chapel, the familiar feel of acorns under foot, a carpet sending our feet slipping from under us. We smell the wood smoke in the air. We see the poplar’s lose their leaves gradually until only a halo of yellow is left at the very top.