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There’s a little known Canadian film called I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing. I watched it many years ago. A friend, who was a Buddhist, said “it’s a nice film” in an emphatic way.

Look closely at trees and this year’s leaves are already there. It might be hidden but with others, there are buds in waiting, made from last year’s sun.

The walk starts with a choice. Turn left, go down a pathway worn in the grass. The first time I went there felt like an adventure. This is not the mountains, it’s urban nature but the feelings are the same, different in size not quality.

Religions don’t interest me but philosophy does. Not so much the scholasticism of Western endeavour, but elsewhere and from ancient time. Aslan tells the children in Narnia: no you don't understand, there's an old magic, much older, which always rules.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it” she said and I replied “yes but not much autumn left. We’re on the cusp of winter.”

Of all seasons autumn has most effect on me. I love spring and summer with the flowers and big warm days. Don’t like winter or its approach.

People collect pebbles, feathers, flowers, to record their nature walks. Ferns perhaps or leaves, inserted into journals with weather notes. I tried sketches and connect better with those views compared to photographs. They are not accomplished pages, but art anyway, with interior feeling correlating picture with fact.

The British psyche is closely related to weather. The same with all countries but I speak about what I know and how it changes.