September has changed again. Together with April, it’s the month of change from one season to the next. The problem is knowing what to wear when I take Ruby to the woods.
Yesterday, for example, I was in a t-shirt, but today it is full waterproofs and a snorkel. It’s not actually raining; it’s low cloud and mist that soaks the bracken and blackens the fallen leaves, so they are like prehistoric bodies in a peat grave.
Across the valley, the hills are grey and indistinct, like distant battleships, anchored. The air is still. All is waiting, as if for something momentous. It’s so still that the cloud must build up from the earth to beyond the sky. You can feel the weight of all that water.
The smells don’t move in this wet stillness. Ruby’s nose is wet and earthy with undergrowth, roots, and last night’s animal smells.
Occasionally, when I push past a tree, a spatter of water prickles cold on my
head and down my neck. The two of us love it. I throw leaves at her, and she digs and barks.
The winter – bring it on!