It is still sunny, still warm but there is a breeze building. It can be heard muttering in the trees around the old mill and up by the brambles and elderberries, vowing wind and rain to force down more dry and dying leaves from the trees. Apples are already falling off the old tree beside the mill and are feeding a variety of small creatures who must know it to be a relatively safe area to look for for food.
The path down towards the mill wheel is a little clearer than it has been. It is a beautiful piece of engineering apart from anything else, just fallen into disrepair and now partially reclaimed by the ash and willow and other trees protecting it. It is as though it is a secret place with the bright orange red fruit of the rosa rugosa bushes lighting it up.