Yesterday there was something in the air that my lungs didn’t like, so much so that I had an asthma attack in the night (and smokers think I’m over-reacting when I say I can’t take cigar smoke!).  I’m not generally an asthmatic – just around cigars and things that make me allergic – and you’ll be pleased to know I was fine after taking my inhaler.

There was something in the air today that made me feel a little wistful. At the time I was in the heart of the countryside, at Rosie’s farm, and Inca and Malachi were out for a walk with me. Inca, the younger and more impetuous of the Black Labradors, raced ahead while Malachi, ever faithful and true, stayed near me unless I threw a stick for her to catch. The older dog never seems to mind that I stop now and then to take photographs, or simply to enjoy the view; in fact, I think she likes it because I talk to her and signal that I’m ready to go on again by running my hand over the back of her head and ears (what soft ears she has). I think she feels we are kindred spirits for we appear to like the same things (although it would be fair to say that I’m not so keen on putting my nose down rabbit holes!). I wondered if, like me, Malachi had noticed the difference in the air.

It was sunny and warm. There was a gentle breeze, slightly cool and not unpleasant for walkers in the countryside, and there were bees and butterflies flitting from one side of the path to the other; but the hedges were not as verdant as the last occasion I had been on the same route, for the green was in the process of giving way to yellow and brown. Thistle heads, no longer purple, were waiting soberly for the inevitable – a stiffer breeze to whisk away the shocks of white and leave them bald. No more the tall spikes of magenta foxgloves, the red campions, or the blue periwinkles; even the cow parsley has become “sparsley”. The ferns were browning off or had already wilted with heat exhaustion. It felt like summer was nearing its end and autumn was in the air.

Malachi and I were a bit sad. We like all the wild flowers. I don’t much like walking in Wellington boots, although Malachi and Inca have no objection to larking about in the mud (another area where we differ!). We found some blackberry bushes and I picked all the ripe berries I could reach without getting stung by nettles and shared them equally between us. Coming back we took the higher path to the orchard and noted that the trees were laden with apples. We remembered that we love picking apples.

“I expect the mushrooms, too, will come up soon,” I said to my faithful friend.

And when we fed the chooks (chickens) the old porridge (glad someone likes it – I don’t) and stale bread I had brought along for them we were delighted to find a fresh egg. I kept this for myself and added another two from the basket in the farmhouse kitchen. Upon arriving back to our home in Dawlish I found Chris sunbathing on the terrace. I don’t think he’s noticed that autumn is in the air.