Fire on the hillside

A solitary walk in the near-empty Benmore Gardens late this afternoon gave me the chance to stop when I wanted - which was every time I spotted a new wonderful autumn tree - talk to myself, and rehash an over-detailed sermon I'd written in the morning. By the time I'd climbed the hill and wandered down the other side I'd delivered the whole thing to myself, and was able to come home and write it down quickly before it grew garbled again.

Every sunny day feels like a precious bonus just now; the colours that I feared might not appear are brilliant, and there is a chill in the air that warns of what is to come.