The low, late autumn sun shone bright and the sky was blue. The breeze was light, and the few remaining dry, crisp leaves rustled loudly as they fell to the floor like autumn snow. In just a few days it will be December.
The lake was as blue as the sky that it reflected. The swans circled disdainfully while the shameless coots indulged in a loud and splashy bath. A line of gulls assembled on a fence. From the tallest trees, the crows bellowed dirty jokes at the bluetits, while a pair of finches harvested berries from a bush.
The teazles grew tall and fierce in the harsh sun at the lakeside. In the shelter of the riverbed, the light was softer, diffused by the trees. A broken willow attempted to bar passage, but its heart wasn't in it and I slipped by.