Autumn leaves catching the slanting afternoon winter sunshine.
Apparently my oak tree still thinks it is autumn, as it clings on to its last few golden leaves.
Now to put this into perspective, mid-July here in Cape Town is like mid-January in the UK. I don’t recall ever seeing any leaves left on any deciduous trees that far into winter, when I was growing up there.
Oh, and the twisty branches in the front left are the grape vine.
Once upon a time, about fifteen years ago, Sparky the squirrel ran round our front garden, digging tiny holes with his teeny paws, and burying some of the neighbour’s acorns, then patting back the soil, and casually scattering dead leaves around to disguise his buried treasure.
At one point there were six little oak trees growing in the lawn. Three made it to a foot or so tall, but only one made it all the way to an oak tree; that now produces copious amounts of acorns of its own.
A new Sparky should come and take away some of these acorns; to plant in another garden, and so continue the propagation of the mighty oak.