The mist clung to the field in the distance. My feet, encased in impractical pink plastic shoes, became cold and wet as we walked on the dew laden grass. I had my iphone in my hand, ready to take a picture of a bird or an animal, or the way the mist floated particularly prettily around a tree. But then my hands started to tingle with a sharp chill that had arrived overnight. I had to stuff them in my cardigan pockets. The pheasant I'd heard whilst I was at the back door, putting my shoes and cardi on, was there, jet black, walking away from us quickly in the distance.

There was a call of the buzzard. One behind me, one slightly quieter, returning the call in the distance, over the farmer's field. And then it flew over the top of me. It's wings spread, following the noise of his mate.

The leaves on the trees are just starting to change colour. Not those on the larger trees, but the younger trees. The field maple, the poplars, the silver birch. And the young horse chestnut leaves are curling at the edges; brown and crinkly.

At first I think I've missed the sunrise. The sky is fairly light, as though it had already been and gone. I turn my back to the east, focusing on the black bins where I store the chicken food, and busy myself with the layers pellets. But, as I turn around, it is there. A thin slice of orange, layered above the mist and the hedgerow. I stare. I can see it moving in front of my eyes. Getting higher in the sky. Melting and merging yellows, oranges and wisps of pink.

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers." Oh Anne of Green Gables, yes, so am I.

october mist