Autumn has hardly touched the trees, mists are slight and clearing early but at ground level it's a different story: the trefoils and vetches which were still flowering a fortnight ago have almost disappeared and the dried ones I have will have to do to make prints from until next summer.
The grass in the castle moat has had its final trim, pink convolvulus and a few stray garden flowers threading the steep banks.
Later in the month there will be stories for Halloween in the priory and castle ruins, perhaps one of the local dragon tales, such as the tale of the Laidly Worm, from nearby Bamburgh Castle, in which a Northumbrian king unwittingly marries a beautiful but cruel witch who changes his daughter, Margaret, into a dragon:
"I weird ye to be a Laidly Worm,
And borrowed shall ye never be,
Until Childe Wynd, the King's own son
Come to the Heugh and thrice kiss thee;
Until the world comes to an end,
Borrowed shall ye never be."
(Childe Wynd thrice kisses the laidly worm, John D Batten, 1890)
