Light beckons as the path winds round to greet the lowering Sun;

Illuminating ragged trees, losing their leaves, their work now done;

Soft padded steps, the rustle of fallen debris scattered underfoot;

Breathing in the cool, clean air as I slowly approach the wood.

I wonder at the glorious beauty of this time of year;

As Nature fades in a blaze of celebration, fanfare and cheer;

Giving gifts of colour to enrich the eyes of those who come near;

In golden yellows, rusts, coppers and reds, all we hold dear.

The path widens, its edge dipping down to the river;

Ancient roots line trenches filled with leaf litter;

Sunlight shines through crowns of leaves like golden glitter;

Water ripples softly, birdsong trills though an air of stillness.

I find a place to sit on the bank, warmed by the Sun, unspoiled;

I feel the ground beneath me, hands splayed out on the soil;

I listen and relax to the gentle waves of the river’s flow;

I feel Mother Nature's heart, allowing her to bring me home.

I leaned back on the bank where I was sitting;

Tilting my head to enjoy the golden leaves above me, smitten;

Mesmerised by the light, the colours, a beautiful, brilliant, heaven;

Such moments in Nature touch my heart and soul, no question.

Beech leaves, wafer-thin and papery, works of art;

Splayed out like fans on branches layering down;

Creating canopies, dappled with dazzling light;

Casting shadows on the ground, made copper with its own kind.

Ancient trees, so much more than trunks and leaves;

Roots travelling deep to the depths of the Earth beneath;

Breaking free above ground where they twist and turn;

Weaving a trellis of woodwork along the water's edge.

Beech trees live for a very long time;

Gnarled and knotted habitats for many a wild thing;

Here, hole-nesting birds and wood-boring insects can be found;

Its bark, home to fungi, mosses, lichens and wildflowers.