A few days ago and the low morning sun was catching the stubble in the fields and setting it aflame with colour – it seemed as though the farmers were striving to hide gold in the ground as they hurried to plough. But now the air is damp with lacklustre drizzle from an overcast sky and the copses on the horizon dull into grey. Even the birds are subdued and the only sounds are a tractor struggling to start; the slow patter of water dripping onto the road from overhanging trees losing their leaves and dead wood; and the startling crack of a shotgun as someone pursues wood-pigeon in preparation for the pheasants to come.
There is smell of wet earth and a hint of decay – both plant and animal – to accompany the tangible chill in the air. But it is not enough of a temperate drop for my breath to cloud and, every so often, the drizzle increases to something akin to rain before abruptly stopping. It is as though the transition into autumn is being accomplished with some kind of grace to alleviate the realisation that there are many more dank days ahead before the sharp clasp of winter arrives.
But I still feel invigorated and it makes me feel part of the world.
The zombie's broken silver 4x4 is still blocking a driveway. (Hardily surprising since the near-side wheel is bent out at an angle it was not designed for.)
Try not to do the stupid things stupid people do.