It was a very beautiful day, with strong light that made the Verbena bonariensis look almost fluorescent, and virtually no wind, and I made the most of it, crawling around weeding. I realised how low the sun sits in the sky at this time of year, as for a large part of the morning it never made it above the little oak tree and the hedge, and I was in shadow as I pulled creeping sorrel and goose grass seedlings out of the island bed in the back garden. There was a heavy dew last night, and my gloves were soon soaked. The BBC keeps reporting that various newspapers are carrying stories of cold weather to come, and even snow by Monday. I find that unlikely, but am aware of how valuable each day working outside is. There have been years when I've been able to carry on right up until the New Year, but the Systems Administrator has warned me that the recent warm and settled weather is linked to jet stream patterns that could bring another cold winter if they persist.
As we were sitting in the kitchen eating lunch we heard a strange barking sound, and our ginger came rushing away from the sitting room and scuttled out of the cat flap. This was odd enough to make us go through and check what was going on, but there was no strange creature to be seen from the sitting room windows, only the big rangy tabby sitting on the window sill, dribbling and looking anxious. As he often dribbles and looks worried this wasn't a clear sign of anything, but we went outside and had a quick look in the garden. Nothing. Not even the neighbours' airedale, which has a wandering tendency. Maybe it was a dog. Maybe a fox? A muntjac? We both heard it, and it got an odd reaction from the cats.
As I weeded, a small bird or birds flitted about, sometimes very close to me, but never in my direct line of sight. I presume a robin or robins, since they are the boldest around people and understand weeding and worms. The strong sideways light is beautiful but also casts a sinister aspect over the landscape, and I don't think it's any coincidence that Halloween, All Hallows Eve, and the mythology of dead souls walking the earth falls at the end of October.
Later on I moved to weed in the front garden so that I could supervise the chickens. I pulled up a half-dead lump of thrift to find a small toad, which began to back away from me, blinking. I admired it for a moment, then moved it to sit beneath a large clump of ornamental grass, where it might feel safe and I wouldn't accidentally kneel on it. A toad, a familiar, a very appropriate find for such a day.
Addendum I found one person who liked Autumnwatch, a twenty-something journalist writing for the Telegraph, who regarded it as an acceptable substitute for the now axed Top of the Pops. The Systems Administrator and I have given up, and bought a boxed set of all six series of The Sopranos, which should keep us going. After episode one I'm hooked, and there are 85 to go.
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