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Summer drifting away into Autumn again; there's always the initial feeling of sadness, wanting to cling on to something ephemeral, until the joys of the new season are remembered. The plunge into Autumn seems even more sudden this year as we have been away a bit and returned to hedgerows full of hawthorn berries, wind, rain and hail-swept garden and the realisation that my attempt to grow outdoor tomatoes in Cumbria was probably over optimistic despite the various heatwaves.

I sat in the garden the other day taking stock: it had turned into a clashing riot of scarlet and orange Crocosmia (a sinister combination to me as the wasps seem to love hiding in them), sweet purple Buddleja (dancing with butterflies this year thank goodness) and Yellow Loosestrife running wild, set against the dark green yew and rhododendron foliage. I would never have chosen these alarming colours and yearn for more restful blues and subtle shades, but as a it's a rented garden created by someone who clearly loved their plants I can't really complain.

Perhaps in the winter my urge to draw and make will return? Right now the garden is claiming all of my often scattered attention; nothing else can compete with the ever changing picture, the perfec…

Perhaps in the winter my urge to draw and make will return? Right now the garden is claiming all of my often scattered attention; nothing else can compete with the ever changing picture, the perfect imperfection of Mother Nature's glorious canvas right out side the door. I'm spending far more time contemplating the squeak of a hazed and puckered Cavolo Nero leaf or the soft flumph of a toad hopping over my bare foot, than I am the pile of scraps on my desk or the idea of making new work.

It’s a small solstice heatwave here in Cumbria, 10 degrees cooler than London but still, sultry. I’ve been sitting outside wearing a big, ugly-but-comfortable, floaty dress from the cha…