In a garden full of leaves, full of the colours of Autumn, one leaf - or rather, a single spray at the end of a branch that will soon be bare. It is the start of a walk that will give me a collection of vivid images, far too many for this platform - when I've finished here, I shall share them elsewhere.
Down among the tall trees it is chilly. The air is still heavy with the damp left from last week, and the sun is already heading for the hills that will soon hide it altogether. Up on the hill, where the full sunlight still shines, it will be much warmer - warm enough to sit and look and enjoy. But here the damp chill strikes through the jacket, and the passing of the season seems poignantly acute.
There are other people in the garden. I can hear their voices. But this is my space, and when winter arrives and the garden is officially closed, I shall be here again. It is one place where the changing seasons seem more important than the hideous changes taking place in the world and in the people who seem to prevail.
It is a refuge.