The vine by the canal changing from green to red. A chill in the air, a slight hazy fog over the town. Leaves drying, curling, yellowing and browning. The sound of a robin by the waterfall, singing his end-of-day song to his partner, and pausing for a reply. The sound of the water over rocks and the sight of my curly haired boy leaning out of his pushchair to see where the sound is coming from. The smell of the woodsmoke from the 30-minute tour canal boat and the sound of a mallard standing up and shrieking, the quack-uack-uack-uack-uack bouncing off of the ancient stone that supports the castle. The smell of lapsang souchong outside the house where the sunflowers are just about to go over. Elderberries and blackberries. Over the bridge. The kitchen garden is ready to harvest. A leafy canopy (the best kind) and moss growing on the stone wall. Dog! Dog! Dog! An excited leapy puppy makes my boy giggle and reach out. Squeezing to the side of the narrow road twice, three times to allow cars to trundle past. Then, we arrive at the chickens. Yes! The chickens! Ok, yes, you can come out of your pushchair. An eager boy cannot believe his luck and shouts loudly “DUCK! DUCK! DUCK!” at the chickens. He laughs, and points, and laughs some more and shouts to the “ducks” again and again. He looks to me as if to say, “Have you SEEN THEM, Mummy?” I let him stand his feet on the gate and we watch the chickens for a while. I love to make him happy and I love how the simplest of things amaze him. We wave goodbye to the chickens and meander home, happy that it is Autumn.