Sitting soon after day break in my living room, freshly opened curtains reveal an autumnal garden in the midst of change. The soft lawn is lending a carpet-like neatness to the open central space, and shabby margins wrap around the garden like a thick fluffy scarf. Welcome to the view from my morning chair.

Halloween pumpkins continue to scowl from just beyond the window, glistening from yet another night of rain. On the ground nearby, a cluster of silver leaved lamb’s-ear plants sit quietly in their now soggy holding pots, and a baby maple already bares its wintry frame from a wooden tub. A lush lawn, some well-stocked borders, a sprinkling of trees and a mug of hot coffee: what more could I want for this moment?

It’s a grey morning, but as a pendulum swings audibly in the room daylight incrementally grows, casting light on the ever-changing outdoors. In the garden, foliage light-green

is fading to yellow, mid-green to gold, and one deep green plant even turning orange; a carefully chosen cherry that one. However, I see that our stubborn birch has still hardly changed at all, just the odd leaf blushing where kissed by autumn’s chill.

From my lightening cave-like room and looking out on the break of day, all without and within is calm, at least until a bird lands on the fence. It’s too dull to see the familiar red breast but its shape gives it away. In a rapid sequence of hops and flaps the Robin is suddenly amongst a bunch of tall silver grass, their finger-thick stems and network of leaves making perfect perching places for the forager. I do feel fortunate to be sharing a moment with this tiny creature as it moves through the autumn garden, quivering stems as it searches for savoury snacks.

The whole morning moment inevitably fades, not least because there are things to be done. I’ve tried photographing the scene before in an effort to capture it, but the results often lack heart and feeling. The view itself works for me almost every day because of its transitory nature, because it’s here only for a short time, and when I’m lucky enough to catch it I feel blessed.

Morning views and moments need to be experienced: the mellow light, a bobbin’ robin, a fiery dogwood or an orange leaved cherry, but especially quietness – morning moments bring a special kind of calm. My view still needs a good deal of work: an element of water – a pond maybe, even a pergola or Japanese lantern. But I like that it’s a work-in-progress, for it offers something to my waking eyes that see gardens for what they are, ever growing ever changing beings that can rarely be fixed in time.

Sitting here in my morning chair delivers much more than just a view, it offers a time for my mind to stir and for my eyes to steadily get used to the new day. What has changed since yesterday? What’s going on with the weather? Is there anything that needs doing today?

I’ll never tire of taking my morning chair, and the awakening moments it has given me.

By Gary Webb.