Autumn Days in Dorset
- dorsetcountrylife
- 1 day ago
- 2 min read
September is here and the weather has changes quiet dramatically and I can feel autumn in the breeze.This morning I stepped outside and the first thing I noticed was the smell of wood smoke. Somewhere in the village, someone had clearly given in and lit their fire, and the scent carried down the roads in that way it only does in autumn. The air had that fresh, damp edge to it too — the kind that makes you pull your coat a little tighter and breathe a bit deeper, just for the pleasure of it.
The hedgerows are brimming right now. It seems to be a good year for berries. Blackberries clinging on, a few hawthorn berries glowing red, and those stubborn nettles that seem determined to outlast the season. I picked a handful of sloes the other day, and they’re still sitting in a bowl on the kitchen counter waiting for me to do something useful with them. Sloe gin, perhaps.
Walking across the fields with the dogs this morning trying to avoid the heavy downpours
the ground squelched under my boots — not quite winter-muddy yet, but getting there. A buzzard was circling lazily overhead, and I stood still long enough to watch it catch a thermal and rise higher and higher until it was just a dot. There’s something humbling about moments like that, when the countryside reminds you it’s not in any hurry.
I notice also how the trees are heavy with conkers, strange really as I hadn't notice them only a few weeks back when the sun was shining and we still were living the summer vibe. But I guess they were there growing and I just look up at the trees more as autumn comes upon us, watching for the colour change of the leaves.
By the time I looped back into the village, I was feeling very autumnal and was pleased that I have put a warming curry in the slow cooker for later — the sort of food that fills you with comfort when its damp outside.
That’s the rhythm of autumn here. Small pleasures, quiet walks, and the kind of cosy moments that make you forget about the rush of the outside world. Dorset in autumn doesn’t shout; it hums, softly and warmly, and you can’t help but fall in step with it.
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