Tomorrow brings the first day of September.
For the past week or so we have been noticing that the mornings are growing chillier, there is dampness in the air, and the wind gathers in dark clouds and showers from the southwest.
Ash Keys, Oak Acorns and Sycamore Wings hang brown in the trees, their surrounding skirts of leaves are dusty and worn.
In the hedgerows and waysides, hands of elder berries bend the boughs low, and bobbled brambles are swelling black beside ochre spotted leaves.
I spotted the first autumnal fungi today, protruding through the leaf litter that has lain more or less undisturbed all summer-long, already nibbled by night-time mice and slugs.
The Jay, the painted crow, flies back and forth across the lane with acorns for his stash, whist Robins, still showing signs of late summer moult, relearn their songs. Spiders patient-wait in their webs of silken thread, strung with beads of gold or silver light.
The harvest has been fruitful, early, the combines and tractors working overtime to bring the precious crops home to the barns.
When the wind blows from across the fields, Thistledowns keep drifting in the kitchen door, perhaps they are in fact fairies, drawn in as I am by the smell of stewed apples?