A tear in the cloud cover on a late Autumnal afternoon under fading light produced a wonderful, pastel coloured sky above the old barn and buildings high above Blandford yesterday afternoon. Tinged with the thin, watery sunlight the clouds took on pinks and purples in contrast to the grey, flat monotone that often accompanies the late afternoon sky in November.

Images such as these always give me a ‘going home’ feeling, where, having been out in the cool, clear, fresh afternoon air, it’s always so nice to be back in the warm with coffee, perhaps cake, but always near the fire or the radiator, thawing out after an expedition with the camera.

It won’t be happening this afternoon, we’re back in the grip of the rain and a very cool ( cold ) northerly breeze, however, we are far more fortunate than some of my friends and acquaintances back in Herefordshire, Worcestershire and Gloucestershire. They are in the grip of the floodwaters in low lying areas and suffering the risks of snow in area’s of high ground. I feel for them, I cannot imagine the damage, disruption and worry that the current weather is causing them, I am most grateful for the mild climate of my adopted county.

….The ‘Milldown’ in Blandford Forum to be precise, though why it’s called The Milldown I have no idea, but as an area of nature on the edge of a busy, bustling Dorset market town it’s much loved and prized by the town’s inhabitants. Currently, like so many other local beauty spots away from the coast it’s an ocean of golds, oranges and reds as the leaves turn.

I’d never visited before, just driven past on the way into town but today gave me a window of opportunity which I grasped with both hands as the weather this morning was nothing to write home about, rain overnight and then a sharp frost followed by a rapid thaw and overcast skies. I didn’t think I’d get much joy today and was prepared for lots of subdued, almost monochrome colours but a gap in the weather this afternoon offered some broken sunshine which couldn’t be resisted.

I spent longer in driving and parking than I did in photographing the scene but it was a journey well worth making just to record the colours which surely wont be with us for much longer. Nature has rewarded us with a rich tapestry this Autumn and it’s difficult not to record it now and preserve it for the cold, dark days that will surely follow.

Walking back to the car after doing my best to capture the glorious scene that the avenue of trees had afforded me my eye was drawn to the lone pumpkin, an obvious survivor of Halloween celebrations put out for the wildlife, looking for all the world like an orange buoy in a sea of orange leaves.

Saturated ( as in rain ) and Desaturated ( as in Colour ), all within fifty yards! It’s been a grey, muted , wintery afternoon here in Dorset. I’m reminded of the phrase ‘ The Rain In Spain is really A Pain’, well, ‘ Nor Is It Much Better In Dorset’ has a ring to it as well. I’d set out with the camera this afternoon more in hope than anger but within a very short space of time the elements conspired against me and I was forced to take cover….in a hedge!

The light faded, the sky darkened and the spots of rain peppered the ground and ‘yours truly’ so much so that moments after stopping to take this photograph with its muted colours I was scurrying along the lane in search of cover, fortunately provided by a high hedge and an overhanging tree which sheltered me from the very worst of the downpour.

That rather set the scene, or the lack of it, for anything much photographically this afternoon, the light which is both the photographers friend or foe just didn’t want to play ball today. The vibrant colours of the last couple of afternoons just weren’t in evidence, that said, there’s something evocative about the muted colours cast in the pale, wintery sky on an afternoon like this. It makes one glad to be homeward bound, out of the rain and the cold and back into the warmth and the light.

I had plans for today, do what was necessary this morning, have lunch and then get off out into the wide blue yonder. Unfortunately the weather has seen fit to throw a spanner in the proverbial works and after a cold but sunny start things have gone downhill and, yes you’ve guessed it, it’s now raining!

I had planned to go back out onto Okeford Hill, it had proved such a successful trip last week that I was minded to go back but to venture in the other direction and head towards Bonsley Common, a destination as yet unknown to me but highly recommended, sadly that’s not going to happen today.

Instead I’ll have to be content with raiding the files and posting a photo from my previous wanderings in the woodlands, well, just out of the woodlands to be truthful and as can evidently be seen. Yes it’s the same location on Okeford Hill but it’s just out of the tree line where the rolling slopes wander down towards Turnworth and Hedge End and then on towards Poole, Swanage and the coast away on the horizon. The well worn path leads along the hedgerow and onwards into the distance, marking the boundary between the woods and the land that has been swallowed up for agriculture as time has passed over the centuries.

Where , once, this ground would have been covered by the forest the land, fallow at this time of year, has been put to use and in the summer was full of grain, golden yellow and swaying gently on the warm summer breeze. Now it lies shorn and silent, awaiting the plough and another crop, a small stand of trees it’s only incumbent on a bracing November afternoon where it’s only visitors treading the well worn path have been ardent dog walkers….or photographers in search of pastures new.

The leaves are falling fast now, at almost every turn there’s a carpet of golden colour spread out before the intrepid walker, and not just in the woodlands either. A walk through the local housing estates is just as entertaining, and often a lot less arduous, certainly a lot less muddy given the weather we’ve been having.

This afternoon reminded me of how, as children, we would walk to and from school with parents and siblings and how we would kick up the piles of dead leaves lining the pavements on Autumn days. The crisp dry leaves rustled underfoot, it was all I could do to resist but I did so, despite the urge. Somethings, it seems, never leave us no matter what age we are.

It’s been a lovely, crisp afternoon with a keen breeze, the thin, watery sunshine did little to warm anything but the air was clean and fresh, for the most part, there was the acrid smell of soot burning in one location, a sure sign of a solid fuel fire and a badly maintained chimney perhaps. It’s not a fragrance that you smell often nowadays but one that reminded me once again of childhood days where the coal fire reigned supreme before the days of The Clean Air Act and healthier sets of lungs.

It’s a bit like riding a merry-go-round, one day is lovely the next is an absolute abomination, one day sunshine and the next we have rain of biblical proportions. the one common denominator in it all is the temperature….or the lack of it. The temperature, despite the best efforts of the weak, wintery sunshine, has plummeted like the proverbial stone. However, every cloud has a silver lining, the cooler conditions have encouraged our feathered friends into the garden in search of food.

The smaller birds, predominantly gold finches and sparrows, congregate on the bird feeders and gorge themselves on the sunflower hearts while the larger birds, predominantly a noisy, argumentative throng of starlings descend to feast themselves on the rowan berries and the peanut feeder. The starlings arrive and fall from the sky like a small, feathery black cloud that swirls at speed around the confines of our small garden before congregating in the tops of the rowan trees, bending the thin, spindly boughs under their weight and chattering, arguing noisily between themselves. There is a constant cacophony, the beating of wings, birds, boughs and berries dancing giddily in this morning’s sunshine.

As birds go the humble starling is a beautiful bird for all it’s disease carrying potential, they carry diseases that are harmful to both humans and livestock, they have a plumage that some of our other feathered friends could only wish for. Their iridescent colours are highlighted by the sun, their markings and feathers stand out like no other, they are the dandy’s of the avian world, miniature peacocks without the tail feathers. Noisy, gregarious, unmusical but with the ability to mimic they are both a sight and a sound, especially if you are fortunate enough to witness a murmuration at dusk, a sight best viewed from a distance, being in the flight path can become a very messy affair so I’m led to believe.

Fortunately they don’t murmurate here. They are content to fly in, feast and then fly out. Their presence is entertaining for the brief moments they spend here, they arrive, fight, squabble, vie for space in the trees and on the nut feeder and then, in a split second, they are gone again like a dark arrow across the skyline, but they’ll be back. They come and go whilst there is daylight, drawn by the bright red berries and the cool conditions which require them to feed almost incessantly in order to keep warm at this time of year. As dusk arrives they’ll gather on the rooftops across the way before roosting in the treetops in nearby Piddles Wood only to return again in the morning as daybreak dictates another day of foraging….they will return to regale us once more.

After yesterday’s beautiful, if breezy, weather it seems that normal service has been resumed. Not that things didn’t get off to a glorious start, we had a hard and heavy frost to welcome daybreak( though I only saw it from the bedroom window ) and I really should have got out there then. As it was by the time I’d risen and got myself out the sunshine had disappeared and been replaced by dull, monotonous, grey cloud as far as the eye could see.

Despite the gloom I walked out just for the fresh air, the breeze was cool, bordering on cold, I was thankful for my heavier jacket, and , certainly grateful for my hat as I trudged along in the relatively early morning light which was soon punctuated with the pitter, patter of raindrops. I got home just in time, the rain has become persistent and the weather has turned colder, as it often does when the rains come. I am glad to be in.

Today’s photograph just suited the purpose I thought. Taken on the steps of The Rialto Bridge in Venice several years ago on a much similar day as today it holds several parallels with the current conditions in as much as it’s raining fit to bust, it’s grey and gloomy ( although no matter what the conditions are Venice can hardly be described as grey and gloomy.) and the orange umbrella reminded me of the orange canopy that’s featuring in some of my photo’s of late. It fitted the bill I thought.

For the last few weeks I’ve been bemoaning the lack of colour on the tree’s at this , one of the most beautiful times of the year. I’ve blamed it variously on the lack of rain in the summer, too much rain so far in this autumn and the lack of frost so far this time of year. Well, I can moan no more. The summer’s long gone, we’ve anough rainfall to float an Ark and this morning parts of our area encountered their first frost of the season, so hard in fact that at Wimborne it looked as though it had snowed.

Personally I didn’t see any of it, I peeked out in the half light at some ungodly hour of the morning and there was fog, or mist, in evidence, at which point I went back to bed having written the early morning start off. However, other hardy souls were obviously out and about with cameras to hand and captured the scene most admirably. As a result, and to admonish myself for my tardiness, I resolved to drag my sorry carcass out into the wilds this afternoon in the hope that I might yet salvage something of the day and capture some autumnal colour.

Over the last few days the leaves have turned, where there were patches of colour amongst a canopy of green matters have been drastically reversed, the golds and reds now far outweight the greens and the canopy is strikingly beautiful. Where the field maples had led the way it seems that everything else has caught up and this afternoon, high up on the ridge above the old chalk quarry between Okeford Fitzpaine and Shillingstone the forest was aglow.

How much longer this natural beauty will be with us depends very much on the weather over the next few weeks but at long last I’ve managed to get out and capture something of the season at it’s finest. Autumn is putting on it’s finery for one last magnificent show before it packs itself away for another year.

Just in the nick of time this morning. I’d been promising myself an early morning foray out with the camera just as soon as conditions were right. Yesterday was a close run contender but the frost we were forecast didn’t materialise and I dithered and dallied and decided not to bother….only then an hour later to be witness to some fog and mist coloured by the early morning sunshine but by then it was too late to get out and photograph it.

Not wishing to make the same mistake and get caught out two days on the trot I managed to get myself out in the elements this morning, only to find no frost nor any elusive mist of fog along the river. What I did find was a very soggy landscape, my usual path down to the river was, frustratingly, several feet under water at the most critical point in the journey. Fortunately I was able to make my way around the small lake that had formed and found another route to me destination.

Sunrise or sunset are quite fleeting moments, from a photographers perspective there is a window of opportunity about thirty minutes either side of sunrise and sunset and then the best of the golden glow is gone , this morning’s enforced detour ( coupled with my tardiness in not getting out earlier ) meant that I was really cutting things fine and as I was trudging through the sodden fields towards my destination I could see the great, golden orb beginning to poke it’s head over the hedgerows to the east. Fortunately I managed to make it just in the nick of time ( hence the title for today’s piece ) and was rewarded by the gentle golden glow lighting the early morning landscape. Thirty minutes later the scene had altered and I was on my way back home, done for the day.

Tradition has it that we celebrate bonfire night on the 5th of November, celebrating the anniversary of the discovery that Guy Fawkes was about to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605. Last night’s display in the little Dorset village of Marnhull certainly had more about it than Fawkes’ failed plot, at least the someone managed to set off the fireworks.

For a relatively small community the organisers certainly did everyone proud. A good sized crowd turned out and were ably fed, watered and entertained admirably. Even the notorious British weather played it’s part by staying dry, the wind adding to the spectacle by blowing the fireworks into cascading curtains at times and thereby adding to the spectacle.

I know in certain quarters and certain circumstances fireworks can be a proverbial pain, I sympathise with people who suffer on such occasions and wholeheartedly agree with the concept of organised displays being the right and proper way forward on the day. Last night’s display in the depths of the Dorset countryside was a splendid example of what can be achieved and enjoyed by many while trying to keep the noise and disturbance to the minimum for the few.