September

The lighting of the first fire since early Summer

now usually takes place.

And how pleasant it is, as the evenings close in,

to draw up to the hearth with the feeling that

the fire is not yet the only barrier

between us and extreme cold and discomfort,

but is merely an excusable luxury

letting us down gently and easily

into the chilly months to come.

How delightful, too, to be able to carry in

odd pieces of wood and fir cones 
found lying beneath trees -

all of which, when much heat is needed,

are not of great value -

but which now give a feeling of thrift,

and the idea that one is saving coal

for a time when it will be essential.

And lastly the woods now take on a quality

unknown in any other month.

After the dull, monotonous green of late Summer,

it is a relief to see the leaves beginning to thin a little,

and the form and shape of trees -

hidden from us since early June -

revealed once more in all their bare beauty.

The dead green gradually, very gradually,

lightens and faint yellows,

tinges of red, russet 

and copper appear.

One last pleasure September has yet to give -

perhaps the greatest or at least the most thrilling of all.

It is towards the end of the month that the gathering

of the first autumn mushrooms is almost a certainty.

Nothing quite comes up to the picking of 

the first September mushroom,

partly, no doubt, because in doing so

one has got the better of one's neighbours,

partly, one must own, because one is

getting something for nothing

and partly, one must own,

for gastronomic reasons.

From Garden and Hedgerow by Ethel Armitage

published 1939.