I woke up yesterday to brilliant sunshine. But that sun carried no heat, despite the accompanying blue skies. By the time I ventured out with Ollie for his walk, there was still a thick white frost on the grass, resisting a whole day of low-lying sun that illuminated the Meadows, and Hoe Rough beyond.
The muddy ruts had solidified, at least at the top, and the flat ground felt hard beneath my boots. The air was noticeably different too; fresher, much colder, and stinging exposed skin on the face. The drop in temperatures had awakened the trees. After hanging on to their decaying foliage for so long, they finally decided it was Autumn, and brown and gold leaves fluttered gently down, like huge snowflakes during a heavy fall, or confetti at a wedding.
It only took a few hours to carpet the open ground, and to cover cars, lawns and pathways too. The familiar rustling of walking through fallen leaves, nothing else to break the silence of the late afternoon. I was grateful for my gloves, my thick socks, and the lined boots too.
This was surely the first day of Winter.