Last night, the dark sky was punctuated only by stars. There was a frost, the first of winter; this morning I had to scrape ice from my windscreen. As dawn broke, I watched mist rise, charmed from the ground by the shining sun. It rose, shape-shifting like my thoughts, moving to the pulse of something unseen. It moved, prowling around the autumnal trees like a beast, a mythical thing beyond my comprehension.
I shivered, and hurried downstairs to take refuge in a very normal pot of tea.