Look for places to see Autumn: the forest, a hedgerow, the meadow. Nature’s last hurrah till Spring, a captivating feast of colour.
You’ll find it there – our Autumn. We create it through every lost wrapper, each cigarette butt and discarded folly.
You’ll see it when crisp, bright leaves tumble, rustle and rest. Their glistening foil catching the warm Autumn sun.
An Autumn rain catcher perched in a hedge, propped on a pavement. Dregs of rain, of hops and apples to offer a cocktail so stale; an elixir of waste.
Small sticks for Autumn fires, warm glow long extinguished. Burned to the end, ash surrendered to the wind. A ghostly sight of fallen cylinders, from exhilarating summer nights long past.
Then, the homes. The places of rest and shelter to the smallest town-dwellers; a styrofoam hutch, a cardboard den or a ill-fated snack for the hungry?
Objects so fearsome for all their power, their silence and light footedness. To pick litter in Autumn is to walk with Nature through illness, to help clean the wounds we’ve inflicted.