Misty, still morning....

As I accompany my guardian on an early morning perambulation through the sanctuary garden and beyond, I am struck by the stillness of the air and the cool damp mist arising from the dew laden grass. My paws, and the feet of my guardian, are drenched and the early morning birdsong echoes in the quietude of the air. I do believe that autumn's cloak has stealthily crept upon us, beguiled us with warmth at the height of the day, to slowly steal away light at either end, taking with it the last warm breaths of summer. The holly berries are suddenly here, bursting forth upon the eye, unmasked from their green finery; the raucous call of the crows and rooks echoing through the morning. Another fine season begins as one fades away. Oh, how I do so love the seasons we enjoy in this fair country, a sentiment it has to be said, my friends, that is not always echoed by my fellow countrymen. No matter, each brings its own delights to enjoy. I am contrarily fond, as you may recall, of the redolence of an autumn bonfire . This will mean that the estate garden is being tidied for winter and preparations made for spring.

The air is crisp and the wisps of mists caress us as we make our way across the estate, footprints an echo of where we have been. Homeward bound towards the shining beacon of light that means the first cup of morning tea is being prepared. My guardian can oft be heard echoing the sentiments of George Gissing in his writings of Ryecroft "Perhaps it is while drinking tea that I most of all enjoy the sense of leisure" for what morning could be complete without this very Bristish accompaniment.