With a run of mostly dry days this week, I have been unashamedly obsessed with the wonderful light at either end of the day.
There are some fruit that we all associate with late autumn, most notably pumpkins and winter squashes, which are harvested after the last apples and pears have fallen.
This week brought our first frost; the early morning skies were brilliantly clear, the palest glacier blue cross-hatched with dozens of feathering aeroplane trails, suffused with gold and apricot as the sun began to climb.
We are deep into autumn now, with winter already beginning to snap at its heels.
Autumn has its own measured pace, a far cry from the rush of spring or the exuberance of summer.
October is a changeable month, like a moody teenager; one minute lapsing into gloom and despondency, the next all sunshine and smiles.
We returned from our travels through a glorious sunset, arriving home after dark and waking the following morning to a misty autumn landscape.
For the past week, we swapped our green hills and misty rainfall for blue skies and a sun-baked landscape.
Damp mists and fine drizzle have been lingering around our hilltop this week.
September is languidly sliding along with its customary mix of grandeur and dishevelment.