The rain had stopped at last, it had formed puddles down the centre of the pathway that were almost enough to make a small stream if joined together, but I was in sturdy boots. Besides, it was worth it to avoid the busy pavement down the main road so I wasn’t complaining.
In a way I kind of liked it like this, the path often seemed to be the only changeable thing here, the only thing affected by nature. In the spring it was bursting with bluebells and daisies, and the tree at the far end blossomed. The autumn was equally beautiful, suddenly everything was orange and the morning air grew crisp and delicious with the promise of winter. The summer had a radiant beauty, but it was a little obvious- in the summer I was not often alone. I would feel a little in awe, but could not feel the same welcome that the beginning of autumn gave, or the same security that came from the darkness that would only just be leaving the sky as I set out.

The wooden gate slammed shut behind me, back to reality, I was here…