Autumn is possibly my favourite time of the year. It signals the beginning of the sporting season, the approach of winter, and a time when it is acceptable to wear thick tights, woollen jumpers, and fur hats. It is a seasonal change that you can always feel and determine, even if the sensation is difficult put into words. I felt it while running this weekend; a sharpness in the morning air that isn’t present in the balm of summer.
The hardest thing about leaving Warwickshire and moving back to Wales was leaving behind the friends I made in the hunting field, and saying goodbye to the excellent pack that we hunted with. I’ve written before about how lucky I was to find them, but now they are hound exercising and I have a serious case of FOMO.
Autumn is my favourite time of the year. In a perfect world Britain would have summers full of clear blue skies and balmy sunshine- in this world I adore summer. However the truth is that summers here are generally wet and grey and people frown when I wear jumpers and refuse to abandon tights.