NOW that the autumn is nearing and the long sunny evenings of high summer a memory, one in particular in late July will sustain me through the long dark months of winter.

I set out from Worston on my horse through the fields to Mearley.

The sun was hot on my back as I rode up the cart track.

There in a tree was a little owl staring at me with that characteristically shocked expression owls have.

Curlews rose up from a newly-cut hay field, their reedy calls so loud in the still air. The smell of the grass was heady.

As I reached the bend in Mearley Brook, the dog went in and lay down: the horse had a drink.

The swallows and house martins were swooping down the brook, their wings touching the surface as they took sips.

The sun made the water look silver, the birds reflected in it.

Riding home, the sun was setting. The sky looked like it was on fire -- it was stunning.

The perfect end to a lovely day.

I just wish I could bottle the sights, sounds and scents and open it on a horrible dark, wet, cold day in November when spring seems so far away.

LYNDA ENGLAND, The Meadows, Worston, Clitheroe.