The world from my window

With November comes the fog and Lush Places becomes Slush Places once more. It's muddy underfoot and the dog has a field day gobbling up all the sheep's poo and getting filthy on harvested ground. But that's the way I like it. Halloween is the day of days; bright, cheerful and sunny. Yet my portal into another world - the mirror in the village square where the ley lines cross - foretells of darker days ahead: red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. October, a rare month for boys . And for girls, too, Mr Bradbury. “Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever.” Imbibed with the power of the sisterhood and  Sa...

A hollowed-out pumpkin, with an evil grin and squinty eyes, glows in the window of the house next door. Mr Champagne-Charlie sits behind the letter box, armed with a bucket of sweets and wearing a gorilla mask. Three young trick or treaters, who I swear are Pelly Sheepwash, Mrs Bancroft and the fragrant Mrs Putter  gone backwards a few times on Ray Bradbury's carouse l, beam when I give them some fun-sized Mars Bars and a packet of Maltesers. And then they go next door, and, by the pricking of my thumbs, I hear a blood-curdling scream. 'Oobee doo, I wanna be like you-oo-oo,' Champagne-Charlie sings from behind the mask. But it is a muffled mix of latex and tone deafness. The three little maids from school hot foot it up the road, the treats flying in their wake. That's about it. Love Maddie x

Today as I walk the dogs, there is a real what I call ‘a Melplash Show morning’ feel to the air. Our local agricultural show is always at the end of August and it coincides with the slight chill and morning dew that signals the onset of autumn. The hedges are damp and smell of vegetation, decaying yet fruiting all at the same time. There are muddy puddles that sparkle with a splash of anticipation as the sun comes up. A hot air balloon drifts slowly, noiselessly, effortlessly across the Enchanted Village. It is a Ray Bradbury story, but not Something Wicked This Way Comes . It’s called Something Very Good Is About To Happen . I love the summer but I don’t mourn its passing. I embrace the autumn, the change in the seasons, the constant life cycle that reminds us it’s good to be alive. We are here only fleetingly but we are stardust. We are golden. Tonight and tomorrow I will be trying to persuade Mr Grigg to come with me for an evening of adventure that will start just after midnight. ...

An old black dog cocks its leg up against the tulips next to the village pump. A woodpecker drills into a tree trunk down on the common. The dandelions stay firmly closed in the cold morning air. Grey skies and drizzle in Lush Places. A perfect day for an election. At the Grigg hovel today, the two party political signs in the window look quite attractive against the purple door. The orange of Sue Farrant, the blue of Oliver Letwin. But close inspection reveals the windows could do with a new coat of paint. And, bizarrely, attempts have been made to alter the names to read Sue Farright and Oliver Leftwing . A few folks make their way up to the polling station, but things are pretty quiet. You could hear a hat-pin drop. Outside the door, a teller with a blue rosette chomps on an apple and asks for my number. She smiles a thank you and reveals a ghastly, gaping tunnel of masticated apple, edged with violent mauve lipstick seemingly applied by Bette Davies in What Ever Happe...