There’s a light dusting of beech leaf confetti, the leaves slowly spiralling, diagonally, to the ground.
The grass is wet with dew and the trees are prematurely ageing, after a short spell with no rain.
Up here on the hill, just before the dog and I enter the time portal gate, there’s the remains of a tree trunk. It makes a handy bench from which to look out over Lush Places and the valleys and hills beyond.
A leaf falls on my notebook.
That’s good luck, isn’t it? Catching a leaf? I make a wish, just in case.
From here I can see just one mast up on Rampisham Down, where in years gone by there were many. You could see them from out at sea. I remember on the road one morning, when I was on my way to work, the masts seemed electrified in the sunrise. I rather liked them. They had a strange, other wordly beauty, and now they are gone.
The dog fails to see the squirrel scampering through the long grass, like a sea snake undulating through the greenery. But I do.
At the top of the hill, someone’s strung fairy lights on the right hand pine. A fairy, maybe, or a tall lady or a man on a ladder.
Their battery boxes flap in the wind.
The wind blows through the beeches to cause a small, leaf shower.
I can see the sea from here but, as the crow caws, the temperature drops, the fog descends and then I can’t see very much at all.
Out through the time portal gate, those hills and valleys and solitary mast are hidden in the mist.