The soundscape today is a backdrop of prickly dry crispy rustling noises. Every shade of russet in the dying undergrowth, interlaced with green threads of bramble, bilberry and moss. Constellations of rain on the leaves, each one a miniature world. The paradox of winter, as dying leaves cling where new buds are already formed. Noticing this tendency in myself, clinging to ideas of what I want next - noticing the lightness and fragility of dying leaves, floating to the ground, abandoned to the whims of the breeze.