Morning mists hang between hedgerows heavy with red ripened fruits.
A fine lace of dew, funeral shroud to the dying days of summer blankets the bletted pears and medlars decaying among the fallen leaves.
The sun forces through the mist for a time, scoring out in new formed shadows the striations of trimmed hedgerows that cross the land.
Ah, autumn, a season of beauty and...bloody hawthorn punctures!