Autumn is here, “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”. Well, the first part of the opening line of John Keats’ famous poem was certainly true, because as we walked along the ridge, the valley below was completely wreathed in a vaporous haze. In fact, everything was hidden in the mist, apart from the huddle of trees close by. Exposed to all elements, these windbitten hawthorns were covered in lichen and … yes, “mellow fruitfulness”. Even through the thick brume, their ripe haws glinted bright red.