Sue Woodcock: Stormy winds at my gate that sound an eerie note of sadness

The grasses bend at right angles and wave energetically and it looks like a turbulent sea.

The gusts have been so strong it has been hard to remain upright.

Every bucket and container has been blown across the field and I managed to retrieve some towels that had escaped from the washing line and lay happily in the fields.

On the roads hundreds of broken branches lay scattered and it has seemed rather cold.

The sheep have sensibly taken shelter in the barn or hunker under the walls in the lee of the onslaught from the weather.

If the chickens venture out, they are blown into the field and valiantly make their way back in a lull until the next blast.

The wind roars as it sweeps by and makes one of the gate posts to my top field sing in the key of E flat which sounds eerie and rather melodically sad.

Just getting in a bucket of coal is a complicated task because the moment I put an empty bucket down it will take off unless I get at least one shovel full of coal into it.

One night the racing clouds were lit up by the moon and appeared like a luminous silver tapestry.

And on one afternoon that was otherwise grey and overcast, I saw from my moorland perch a tiny gap of blue sky and under it a solitary patch of sunlit moorland over on the far hills.

The leaves are starting to drop and some of the foliage on the trees is already starting to turn the many glorious colours that herald autumn.

The children are back at school and things are calming down on the visitor front.

I was down in the village the other day outside the bank when a lady approached me to say that some readers had spotted me and wanted to say hello, so I did.

People are very kind and love to ask about my animals, Brillo especially.

She has found a new place to dig excitedly for rats out on the field and barks for ages in the hopes they will emerge to play with her.

Boo has made a good recovery from her little accident and will soon have the stitches out. The vet did a good job of sewing up her cut on her leg and the wound is healing well.

At Sutton in Craven, where I went to give a talk to the WI, I was given a warm welcome after I had received immaculate directions from the organiser in the most beautiful handwriting.

Good handwriting is a dying art I believe.

Mine looks as though a drunken spider having fallen in an ink pot has wandered across the page.

In Skipton I picked up my niece who was travelling up from Oxford to spend a few days with me before flying over to New York to join her partner.

The dogs just adore her and little Ginny was mesmerised, instantly cuddling up on her lap. I shall take my niece to Manchester to catch her flight and then we have another murder mystery play at Buckden to rehearse and the start of Buckden singers once again after the break.

I also ventured over during the week to visit Pudsey, a fine town. I had no idea it was so big. Unless I have a reason I seldom go far from home and I like to see new places and meet new people. I can always learn something.

At the weekly quiz we had a couple from Melbourne, Australia, and a group from Holland as well as visitors from other parts of Yorkshire.

I think they enjoyed the evening. One couple had a wonderful little dog, a Chihuahua pup called Woody who watched the whole proceedings with impeccable manners and great interest. He was very cute.

Life is getting very active again and I am making preparations for winter.

It is wise to have sufficient stores in even at this very early stage.

I may be retired but I have never been so busy. There is always so much to do.

My life seems to be a string of trying to catch up with those tasks I have put aside for later.