A forever work in progress

Autumn was officially upon us once more. Not that you would know it had been summer in the months preceding, this is England after all. You could though I guess argue that the constant barrage of rain was an adequate marker that the English summer had been in progress? Still, now it was mid October and a lot of trees had dropped their leaves faster than a female fan had dropped their knickers at a Tom Jones concert at the height of his popularity. From a distance the huge line of orange laying in the gutters was reminiscent of the cheese dust you'd expect to find at the bottom of your Wotsits bag. Nature's detritus carpeting everywhere he looked as it braced itself for winter, expending anything it no longer needed to save energy and survive.  Thousands of dried pine needles spread underneath a tree like it had been a fortnight after Christmas and the latest addition to the family, a newborn puppy, had slammed into it having still not mastered the art of stopping whilst boundin...