I wake to the shrieking of foxes. At first, I can’t place the sound – still half-asleep, it seems like a scrap of dream has escaped into the attic or the walls, whistling and itching and coughing – but I wake, and yes, it’s the foxes in the garden, back again as they have been the last few nights.
Read MoreIn the Rock Pool
I’m staring into a rock pool, at Pink Bay, just outside Porthcawl. Called “pink” because some of the rocks, especially when wet, blush like wild roses.
Read MoreSeptember in Siluria
Autumn is coming on gently this year, slowly speckling the bramble leaves with crimson rust, deepening the sloes from blue to indigo.
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