The days are getting colder, and the nights are colder still. The bracken on the hills is turning to rust, the rowan trees are heavy with berries, and mushrooms cluster on the woodland paths, showing where small fairy feet have danced.

It's been such an abundant blackberry season that there are still berries to be found among the brambles, and Tilly still delights in feasting on them whenever we walk on the paths behind the house...

...but soon the blackberries, too, will go. The leaves are turning, and they soon will fall. It's time to get the chimney sweep in, stock up on wood and coal, get the wools and thermals out of storage in the attic. Winter is coming. The seasons are changing. And it's all dammas (as Crow in The Wood Wife would say); it's all good.