In our four months in lock down in Bridlington we’d often escape on our bikes to the countryside just minutes away. We watched the seasons change from spring to summer and I’d always meant to stop and pick up the small pine-cones blown from an avenue of trees alongside a favourite cycling path.
Somehow I never did get round to it.
We’re now at the beginning of autumn [a chill in the air etc. etc.] and yesterday my partner came back on his bike with presents for me gathered by the roadside. I put them all in a small Poole bowl, pine-cones along with a spray of hawthorn berries, and together they seem to sum up the turning of the year.
There’s almost certainly a poem to be found in this picture, as every year I wrestle with trying to say something a little different about each season. So I’ve offered up the photograph to a writing group that I run, to see if it inspires them.
What would you write?
