A path in the village is lined with plum trees. The fruits are small and speckled, their juices sweet and sharp. In just one handful lie all the tones of autumn – mustard, russet, mauve, and ruby.
We collected a good basketful at the weekend, destined for crumble. The overcast days, downpours, and darkening evenings make it feel right to eat such a cosy dessert.
There were blackberries too for the picking, now studding little buns. Topped with a sprinkle of Demerara sugar, a splash of rosewater added to the cake mix, they work well with a mug of strong tea.
From where the brambles grow there are views over the valley to the wooded hills on the other side.
But when it’s warm the fruit won’t keep, so we headed back to the house, stealing one last look back along the track to take in the big sky.