THE BEAUTY OF THINGS THAT CHANGE

I went to the park at lunchtime. The grass was covered in fallen leaves, blustering about in the wind. The trees were flame-red, orange and yellow, and where the tree-tunnel had been summer-green just a few weeks ago, weak sunlight now tumbled through a sea of brown and gold leaves.

There were acorns too - millions of them, blown into the corners of the paths and hedgerows. A squirrel darted out from somewhere and disappeared again. A small dog in a bright harness bounded across the grass, barking into the wind.

There are so many reasons to love this time of year! It's so alive, so vibrant with colours and feelings! The sun hangs low and casts golden shadows, and when it's overcast, the clouds race along with the wind and whip the leaves into a frenzy.

I stood under the old oak tree. It's one particular tree that stands on its own. It reminded me of a Chinese pagoda today, glistening gold against the sky. The bark was cold and firm and the shiny acorns crunched underfoot. I closed my eyes, maybe not quite like a Shaolin monk, but hopefully just as focused.

You can't control the seasons; they just happen around you. From the earth to the sky, the change is inevitable - leaves fall, crispy and brown, they mulch into the soil and the soil freezes. Snow covers the bare branches, then one day the nutrients flow up from the same soil, and new life buds into the sunshine. It can't be slowed down or speeded up, it can't be stopped or started; it just happens, old into new, new from the old.

I wondered whether there might be a lesson there for me: something about not trying to control things but just letting them happen, perhaps understanding that the only thing to do is pull a coat on, wrap a scarf around you, and enjoy the beauty of things that change - because it is always there, that beauty I think, if you look for it.

I thrust two hands into my coat pockets and headed for a cup of chamomile tea, some buttered toast and a warm home. Lovely.