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;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
From John Keats' poem, To Autumn, 1820
Curated and photographed by
Having spent 10 years working in the corporate world, and living in a busy city centre, Emma now loves life back in the beautiful West Country, where she and her husband set up Somerset Yurts and run a dairy farm on her Husband's family farm set in the Quantock Hills AONB
She has bit of an obsession for all things photographic, whether it's photographing her children, puppy, garden, farm, yurts... or just finding the beauty in simple everyday things.