The inevitable time has come. No longer will we be able to casually look out our glassed front door to look out at the gardens and the urns at the front of our house, to take in their fresh greenery, brilliant flowery colours and shapes and take deep satisfaction from the scene.

All has turned sere, the leaves dropping with each succeeding touch of light frost that night-time brings, preparing us for that eventual hard, killing frost.

And finally, I've had to remove all of the still-spectacular flowering plants, the wonderful begonias, the ever-blooming lobelia, the trailing petunias that were still faithfully colouring our fall world. All to be deposited into the compost pile which will later, when transformed into ready, rich compost, be used to further enrich the garden soil.

And the begonia bulbs will be taken down into our basement for over-winter storage, to be brought out again once winter has blown its last cold gusty winds and covered the landscape with a thick blanket of snow for the last time. In the spring, out come the bulbs once again, to be planted in readiness of preparing us for yet another summer of glorious shapes and colours.

In the meantime, we look out now on a bleak, green-absent, flamboyant-flower-less landscape and dream about the season that will herald another year of extravagant growth and joyful ease.