71. Granite stone

The sunset today was stunning, with the almost-bare branches of hawthorn and ash silhouetted against a bright orange sky. The clocks have gone back and the early sunset feels like the start of winter. I am struck by how fast the change has been and how stark the leafless trees now appear.

I picked up a granite stone, forged from volcanic magma that was once hot and flaming orange like the sunset, and thought about the elemental forces over billions of years that created planet earth and its orbit around the sun. A humbling thought on a quiet October evening.

70. Fallen birch leaves

My feet led me to the Samhain garden along a path strewn with fallen birch leaves. The season has shifted once more as autumn slips towards winter. I feel the change in myself too, as I finally let go of summer and begin to obey the call to the quieter, more inward-looking time ahead.

The leaf woman on the island is already dreaming, made of the falling leaves and deeply connected to the earth. This exquisite sculpture (by artist Linda Brunker) is, to me, the essence of Samhain, of the Garden preparing for its winter rest.

I gather some leaves, scatter them over her and sit for a while, grateful for this quiet heart of the Garden.

69. Blackberries

The hedgerow harvest is in full swing. Sloes, hazelnuts, hawthorn berries, rose hips and blackberries adorn the jumble of bushes and small trees that make up the rich biodiversity of our native hedgerows.

Evolution has, of course, shaped the attractiveness of the fruit to ensure it is eaten by animals and birds, the seeds passing through the digestive tract to be dispersed to new locations, often with a little starter pack of natural fertilizer.

There is no doubt which hedgerow fruit is most attractive to the human animal. Blackberries are delicious, raw or cooked, and there is the additional pleasure of picking them - searching along the hedges for little gleams of purple-black and getting excited when one finds a particularly good bush full of plump berries.

I'm afraid we didn't help with the seed dispersal, but we had a wonderful dinner.

68. Witch hazel

The long shadows of the standing stones point directly towards a golden bush - the witch hazel is glowing in the late afternoon sun.

Witch hazel is a traditional Native American herb, valued for its astringent and cleansing properties. We planted it in the medicinal bed in the Lughnasa herb garden along with echinacea, evening primrose and many other amazing plants.

Witch hazel is probable best known as the main ingredient in commercial eye lotion, used for tired or dry eyes. I needed no tincture today: it's bright autumn colour was enough to refresh not only my eyes but my full being.

67. Ash keys

The end of the Celtic year at Samhain is only a few weeks away and I can sense the Garden slowing down. Leaves fall, greens fade to orange and brown and nature is moving towards its season of rest.

The Celtic Buddha sculpture reflects the season perfectly, especially on a still, slightly misty October day like today. The figure simply kneels, content in the company of earth and trees.

Behind the sculpture is the tall ash tree I wrote about in April. In the intervening six months the seasons have worked their magic - leaves burst open, grew and are now turning brown; the ash flowers have turned into hanging bunches of winged seeds or 'keys'.

I picked some ash keys, gathered crab apples from the ground and laid them on the lap of the kneeling figure.

A little offering to the spirit of autumn and the potential of new life within the seeds.

66. Beech mast

Golden beech on a golden October day

I made the acquaintance of another beautiful tree today, a magnificent beech with a wide trunk, spreading branches and leaves turning gold.

This is a 'mast year' and the ground under the tree is covered with beech nuts. Traditionally, pigs would have been let into the woods to eat the mast and I can imagine them here, feasting happily in the warm autumn sunshine.

Beech is not a native Irish tree and doesn't figure in the Ogham tree alphabet, yet I feel a close affinity with it. We are both native to the south of England but grow well in Ireland when we put down strong roots.

65. Acorns, for Dunderry

The ground at my feet is strewn with acorns from a magnificent oak tree in Dunderry, Co. Meath. I am relishing the landscape of tall trees and rich farmland, so different to Connemara. Judging by the width of the trunk, this tree is not particularly old in oak terms. But I have to lean backwards to see its crown as it reaches for the sky, growing vigorously with companions of beech and ash.

I have met this tree before, and it has offspring in Brigit's Garden. Fifteen years ago I collected acorns from this path, buried them in a seed bed and then planted out the young trees as part of our new native woodland. They are growing well around our driveway, bringing a touch of the sacred landscape of the Boyne Valley to the West.

The oak has always felt like a symbol for the Garden. It too started as a tiny acorn, the germ of an idea, which has grown into a young tree and which I hope, in time, will develop into a mature oak. It is a potent metaphor. The tiniest beginnings can grow and blossom into something wonderful.

Everything is possible - all we have to do is plant the seed.