On a cold and clear autumn morning.

The clocks have been turned back an hour, October has gone and the first day of November was a misty, grey and damp affair. The second day of November however dawned bright and clear, if a little cold. The garden thermometer told me it was minus one degree Celsius outside and I was quite inclined to believe it.

As I walked into the cemetery through which I like to walk on my way to work, a lone magpie sat atop a fir-tree; one for sorrow? No, the magpie I could see was calling to and being answered by another somewhere out-of-sight; two for joy.

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The low morning sun was picking-out the colours in the trees, those that had leaves that were turning; reds, and golds, one last flourish before winter. The hoar frost was already melting as the sun’s increasing warmth spread across the grass; the air was still cold, cold enough to make my skin tingle. The sort of cold, bright morning that makes me feel… ALIVE!

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