Princes Street Gardens

I was borne into the city centre on the wings of a stiff but mild west wind this morning with the falling leaves hurtling past me to join the soggy masses on the pavement and in the gutters. The rain had stopped but the ground was sodden, the grass a patchwork of golds, reds and umber.

Princes Street Gardens was looking resplendent in its autumn livery as I passed en route to the station to renew my Rail Card at a seemingly extortionate price given the number of train journeys I make, and a little hard to justify when I can get a bus to most places, except south of the border, for nothing.

Now as I sit over lunch, gathering my strength for an afternoon of socialising, the sun through the trees outside the window is turning their remaining leaves into a shimmering dancing extravaganza of yellow and palest green: a terminal showy flourish before they too are blown away.