Autumn Magic

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; 
John Keats

Keat's poem 'To Autumn' was written exactly 200 years ago: Whilst writing it he knew that he was suffering from tuberculosis, a disease with no known cure. It became his final poem and was included in a collection of his work known as Keats's 1819 odes. He travelled to Italy for the winter seeking warmer weather, along with hopes of finding a cure, but sadly died just over a year later at the age of 25. 

We have taken several short breaks this Autumn, especially down to Devon/Cornwall - it's a very easy, quick journey for us. Whilst we have been absent several Roe deer have claimed ownership of the garden. They have nibbled all the remaining flowers on the begonias and geraniums, and are now happily dining out on the hedges. However, ultimately this will mean less work for the hedge cutting men when they arrive. It is the end of the gardening season so I am happy for them to eat whatever they fancy, they need all of the nourishment they can get to sustain themselves throughout the winter months. Usually two or sometimes three seniors turn up, but recently we have had a group of five very young ones visiting. Fortunately they appear to be well nourished and healthy, but are far more timorous than the older ones. When I watch the adults through the window, and they spot me, they neither flinch nor move away, but stare straight back as if to say "what do you think you're doing here?"

We visited this lovely Cornish location at the end of October, an area steeped in history and legend, but do any of you know who lived in this cave?
Not sure when I will be able to post again - the wretched computer keeps crashing!