Not winter...yet. But late fall in Canada always makes me hum that song. Today I have the day to myself, and after waving farewell to my family as they set off for cub camp ("so long, cheerio, pip pip, farewell, but be back soon..." just not too soon), the dog and I tromp off for a long autumn walk.
Many of the trees - including the maples, elms, oaks and ashes on my property - still have leaves, and a wave of gorgeous colour paints itself across the countryside. But there is a strong wind today, and yellowed leaves swirl at our feet as we follow the road over hills and through the glen.
The ground is damp and the air filled with that rich earthy scent that reminds me of Flambards (that's a post for another day). Lady disturbs a couple of massive puffball mushrooms that dissolve into fungal dust, and I am taken back years to my first puffball feast and how disappointed I was (not to mention how much butter I put on to make them edible and not hurt our hosts' feelings).
Down the lane, through the woods, across the pebbled river and back across the fields. Every year it seems I take the same pictures, say the same things.
The golden canopy, the crunchy path of dead leaves, the pungent aroma of the forest, the inspiring awesomeness of nature.
I could have taken this picture today or a year ago, or five years ago. In fact I probably did.
The only thing that changes is the height of the children.
But today it was just me and the dog, a mad squirrel and a flock of arguing birds.
And a beautiful Autumn walk.
At the end of it all, on this blustery Winne-the-Pooh day, we came home to a quiet house, lit a fire, made a hot cup of tea, and am spending the next couple of hours with a book. Or two.
I might even make soup. A nice bowl of potato-cheddar chowder accompanied with crusty rolls always goes down well on a day like this.