There was a different quality to the air today. Last night I lay in bed and listened to the rain on the roof and the wind rattling the windowpanes and knew that in the morning the seasons would have turned.
I woke to steely skies and more wind, tossing the branches of the trees in the small park visible from my kitchen window. I grated an apple from the Norfolk garden into a bowl to mix with museli. It smelt of autumn, of heavy branches and curling leaves, chilled air and rain-wet grass. This was followed by two crumpets spread with butter, which melted into golden pools on the plate below.
The walk to work was strewn with twigs and tree bark that had fallen prey to last night's wind and I walked briskly, with my cardigan buttoned.
At work we drank hot tea and talked of the changing seasons, of pumpkins and squash, and how best to cook them, of sparklers and fireworks, and darker evenings.
The sun is out now and the sky is blue, but the wind is still lively and there's a chill to the air. All the potatoes have been dug up from my balcony bag and stored in newspaper, and autumn is undeniably here.