A quintissential autumn afternoon after a morning`s heavy rain, down here in Lennoxtown where we`re at the end of a week`s dog-sitting.
The sun was warm, the Campsie Fells freshly laundered
and the track on the way back beside the river, along the old rail track as atmospheric as ever: old bridges and tumbledown walls speaking of bygone eras
overlooked by lichen covered trees that only add to the slight sense of mystery.
On misty evenings, no doubt, the odd ghost train must glide silently past.
Meanwhile, the first half of September has lived up to the Keatsian truisms of fruitfulness.
The leaves are on the turn, the slightest breeze sending the first few tumbling to the ground. We may be promised a week of warmer weather but there`s no doubt we`re heading towards the long dark nights....and who knows how that`s going to go in this strange and uncertain reality.
Onwards and upwards and back to the north tomorrow!
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