Autumn's gold is turning grey. And when the Cotswolds are overcast, they are very gloomy indeed. But, rain or shine, exercise (albeit brief) must be taken. So we popped over to the woods for a quick leg stretcher.
Despite the dark skies, the central beech grove glows; it is as if we are standing in a copper lit temple, held up by the very trees themselves. Further on into the birch woodland, things become tangled and dank; skeletal twigs scratchily rustling in the damp breeze. The air smells earthy and moist - a clean, woodsy aroma as nature gently rots.
We have had such little rainfall that the fungi season has been set right back. Usually our woods can display around 250 varieties of fungi. Today we could not count them on one hand. We found one large bewigged fellow, somewhat munched on.
An ear fungus, pristine and glistening. 
And, barely noticeable, tiny pinheads scattered over a rotting trunk. 
There is someone having his lunch in there. He is only one centimetre long, but he is a devouring giant to these little snowballs.
From a spyhole on the edge of the woods, we see that more rain is coming in from the west. Time to go home. Time for hot chocolate and to search the cake tin for leftovers.
Today we lit the woodburner for the first time since Spring. 
Autumn's gold is turning grey. And when the Cotswolds are overcast, they are very gloomy indeed. But, rain or shine, exercise (albeit brief) must be taken. So we popped over to the woods for a quick leg stretcher.
Despite the dark skies, the central beech grove glows; it is as if we are standing in a copper lit temple, held up by the very trees themselves. Further on into the birch woodland, things become tangled and dank; skeletal twigs scratchily rustling in the damp breeze. The air smells earthy and moist - a clean, woodsy aroma as nature gently rots.
We have had such little rainfall that the fungi season has been set right back. Usually our woods can display around 250 varieties of fungi. Today we could not count them on one hand. We found one large bewigged fellow, somewhat munched on.
An ear fungus, pristine and glistening. 
And, barely noticeable, tiny pinheads scattered over a rotting trunk. 
There is someone having his lunch in there. He is only one centimetre long, but he is a devouring giant to these little snowballs.
From a spyhole on the edge of the woods, we see that more rain is coming in from the west. Time to go home. Time for hot chocolate and to search the cake tin for leftovers.
Today we lit the woodburner for the first time since Spring. 
