The nourishment of autumn

Early this morning I took a walk to what we call the Castleton Drop. With so few street names in the moors, this steep 120 stepped incline on the Castleton bridle path had thus earned its name.

This particular walk sees us passing the forlorn -looking donkeys, the alert eared llamas and the skittish pheasants, and with each we share morning salutations.

Reaching the open views of the Castleton drop with smoke puffing out of Cobble Hall below us, I find my favourite rock to perch on. This is the perfect place to still my far too active mind.

I take a moment to feel the October breeze on my skin. Cool, but not icy yet. I hear the gentle trickle of the moors water finding its way to the sea bound Esk. I see the honking formation of geese returning to their winter feeding grounds. I watch the rust-coloured leaves letting go as they gently fall, settling on the earth to nourish their family of trees. I listened to the wheezing bark of the grey squirrel as they bury the tree gifted nuts that they will forget the place of, to be foraged by hungry relatives when they need it most.

Feeling soothed by nature’s preparations, I consider that autumn is a time of nourishment. I remember the end of the Mary Oliver poem Wild Geese that has grown with me through the years, ‘over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’

I decide family has nothing to do with DNA, but everything to do with being with those that nourish you. Then I returned home to share my mornings nourishment with those who I call family.