“Well, the world turns,” as Elvis once sang so memorably. And the rest of us turn with it. The autumn equinox has passed and the days are narrowing. The swallows are gone, but our winter migrants, such as the fieldfares, are returning – I heard them chack-chackering their way over the village this morning. The scent of dying vegetation and freshly ploughed earth tangs the air. But there are still flowers blooming here and there. In fact the perennial sow thistle is just coming into its own. Like dandelions on stilts, these plants are currently crowding our back lane verges. Stars of the autumn, even midsummer has nothing as golden as the perennial sow thistle flower, nor as soft to the touch, nor as tasty. Riding past them today, I saw the hoverflies feeding on them. I c