Autumn Stags

In a rainy autumn, there are still moments of opulent beauty, glimpses into the gilded palace the season creates. When the light breathes into the morning rain and the stag receives the blessings of dawn, October’s own magic unfolds. 

After sunrise had briefly touched the Yorkshire moors with sparkle, it withdrew behind thick clouds. The forests were green still, only few leaves having fallen. The diminished light saturated the woodlands with  darker hues as if moisture had stirred up the colour from the ground and it were subsequently blotted across the landscape. A stag emerged from the thicket. He must have gotten my scent on the breeze, and briefly eyed me before strutting into the valley below.

As the sun’s angle slowly decreased, currents of nightly cold and farewell sweet marbled the air, setting the mood for the youngsters to fight under the trees’ turning canopy, on silver grass in golden light, to prance to autumn’s drums and crown a new king.