I am working this weekend so my alarm barged into my consciousness and jangled my nerves at its usual early hour. Although light outside, the day had not yet the strength to reach through the window glass and, for the first time this year, I turned to artificial light to illuminate my morning.
Beyond the window the garden was wet. Neighbouring roof tiles darkened by rain and gutters dripping gently. Drizzle hung thickly in the air. The damp earthy smell brought to mind the hints of autumn colour I saw in the bracken-floored woodlands through which I walked yesterday, and the dangling clutches of elder and rowan berries; midnight purple and scarlet.