We keep telling ourselves that our Indian Summer can't last, the previous day had been clear with a glorious sunset and clear bright night sky.
Next morning brought the first frost, sparkling white, mist rising from the still surface of the river.
Golden leaves crunched under foot, disturbing the still morning.
A lonely ship wreck emerged, oyster catchers took flight.
And gradually the warming sun rose above the trees giving everything a pink glow.
Fish On Fridays. "Voici La Vahiné, Monsieur Tillerman !"
23 minutes ago