A fig on fire is Autumn’s sweet song, as she pulls down her sap and allows the wind to carry her leaves into the earth’s lap. Her colours are a rapture to the senses as she appears to wither and die, and her branches become naked to the winter sky. She is going into retreat right down to her roots where she will hear the ancient whispers of each traveller she has refreshed with her fruits. Snow will fall and cover her nakedness as she covered Adam’s and Eve’s, then it will melt and she will drink, nourished by her modesty as she weaves. Another season’s energy and she emerges from retreat, her enlivened sap falling into the traveller’s hand, offering the sweet fruit that she has drawn from the land.