firecracker

Today I discovered that our dormant winter garden is full of life and energy: buds, shoots, seeds and new growth just waiting to explode. The acer stands, glowing like a firecracker amongst it all: flames flickering; vibrant and bursting with colour.

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© words and images by Emily Hughes, 2017

blackberry treats

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

I love this quote, and try to remember it every year when the leaves tumble into crunchy piles of a thousands shades of amber. Every new season always feels like an opportunity for renewal, but especially autumn, when the cooling, crisp winds which make us reach for our jumpers and hats breathe a haze of rich, gold-infused light over the heavens. And especially this year. Maybe because it came at the end of a wonderfully long, heady summer, or maybe because I have taken on new challenges and my brain is whirring as it learns new things. Or maybe it is because, as I head into my own autumnal years, I feel more of an affinity with this season which I have previously always approached with a sense of loss and longing, and am finding it can energise me as much as the sprightly newness of spring, or the carefree, lazy days of summer.

The children always love this time of year because for them it signals the start of the season of treats, fun and indulgence which starts around Halloween and peaks with Christmas, of course. They find the chilly days and dark nights exciting in a way which I, as one who worships light, have never really understood before. Even bonfire night usually fails to ignite a spark of excitement. However this year, the quiet, mellow joys of this mature season have infused my heart and pooled into its chambers with a surprising, juicy burst of delight – just like that first taste of freshly plucked sweet-sharp blackberries.

blackberries

yellow leaves

Felix and Flo picking blackberries

blackberry in hand

Felix and Florence on gate

red leaves

Flo eating blackberry

Felix at lake

© images and words by Emily Hughes, 2015

seed head study

I love shooting macros at this time of year. Autumn is such a rewarding subject, just as nature is settling, cocooning; turning inwards for the long winter ahead. I never tire of photographing seed heads either. Endlessly captivating, they offer forth their generous, basin-like heads, sheltering a bounty of tiny jewels secreted within.  These ones looked still young to me, and they stood out, green and proud amongst a scene of quiet decline around them.

seed head 6seed head 1 seed head 2 seed head 3 seed head 4 seed head 5 © images and content Emily Hughes, 2014

a folk tale

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sometimes, nature knits its own stories.

© images and content Emily Hughes, 2014

find me

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find me unravelling the forest floor

find me hugging the crest of a sandy shore

find me wrapped in a gauze of Spring, when Autumn comes

that’s where you’ll find me

© images and content Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2013

Autumn’s still

If you listen carefully you will hear the hushed still of Autumn in the breeze
If you look closely you will see quiet muffled beauty in the closeness
Nature is settling
Falling
Furling
Curling

After the buzzing vivacity of Spring
And the full heady bloom of Summer
Nature is calm and muted
Yielding
Thoughtful
Weary
Winding down

There is a soft, subtle radiance to Autumn. Soothing pastels and rich, warm tones replace vibrant hues. A gentle opalescent shimmering punctuated by
startling instants of vivid colour: the magnificent red of the rosehip, or the garish yellow of lichen, reminding us that life, nature persists. Persevering. Renewing.

© images and content Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012

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