I like autumn. I like the smells, the colours, the change in weather and the very different temperatures. However every now and then you see a little cameo, or tableau if you like, that highlights the fact that autumn is the beginning of the end of another year.
A section of log used as a chopping block but now going the way of all natural things, rotting and decaying for how many years? Who knows? Think of the logs that have been split on this end-grain but there won't be any split any time soon. The autumn emphasis is heightened by the the Sycamore seeds that have landed there blown by the wind. No doubt they'll germinate and try to grow there.
Then a Child's wheelbarrow in the same abandoned garden and that's having a definite touch of the autumns too, gently rusting away and full of holes but the Norfolk Bog Door Blue paint is, as always, standing up to the elements. Which is more than can be said for the windfalls although some people might pick them up to make rough cider. Not for me thank you, although I suppose you could always run a tractor on the end product.
Another view of autumn, but in close-up.