Perfection

Although winter's still a long way off, for the first time you could feel Jack's icy fingers grasping for you. A chill wind raced across the browned heather expanse of Spy Holms, by no means hard, although it was enough to remind you that the wheel turns towards winter...and turns at a pace. Still, descending towards Rooks Bridge autumn returned in all her radiant glory. Mill Lawn Brook sparkled in the morning sun, whose warmth could now be felt away from the exposed plain. I lack the words, or maybe the skills, to describe days like this properly, there's just a certain something, an air of perfection that suggests that everything is as it should be. The forest was simply glorious. Sat under my old Beech in Burley Old I took in the sights, sounds and smells of the stands, who although bathed in tranquillity and the last days of gorgeous dappled light continued to be a hive of activity. The forest inhabitants must have also felt Jack's breath at their shoulder.