Our Sunday adventure begins later than usual today. The week behind us—crowded with routines, early alarms, long hours and late nights—has taken its quiet toll. And so this morning, for once, I gift myself permission to rest. The rare luxury of letting the dawn unfold without me.
When I finally stir, slow and unhurried, Carys sits by my side, watching me with patient expectation. She knows, instinctively, by the clothes I’ve pulled on, that today is a day built for distance—a day measured not by clocks or calendars but by footsteps, open fields and the promise of discovery.
Sunday returns with its familiar promise of adventure—a single, precious day carved out for wandering, after six straight days of work and routine. It is meant to be a day for the hills, for high places and long views. But one glance outside tells me the weather has other ideas. Rain lashes the windows with fierce determination, and the horizon dissolves into a long, unbroken smear of grey. The world looks as though it has been washed of colour overnight.
I take my reflections today from our afternoon walk, a welcome shift in tone and mood. Afternoon carries a different kind of quiet, a softer light, a slower rhythm. And on a day like this—cold, damp, grey—the contrast is even more pronounced. The early winter darkness folds itself into the landscape long before its time, and the trail feels deserted, as though it has borrowed the stillness of an early Sunday morning.
This morning unfolds as a quiet milestone in my journal—the first true freeze of the season. The day begins at -3°C, and the air carries that unmistakable sting that belongs only to winter’s earliest breath.
For the first time this year, my winter coat emerges from its summer slumber, shaking off months of stillness so it can once again stand guard against the cold. Hat and gloves return to their familiar duty. Their presence signals that the season has shifted.
I’ve been in love with black and white photography for as long as I can remember. In my younger years, I’d pore over old monochrome prints—grainy and imperfect. They seemed to breathe with quiet truth, as if whispering stories from another time. Even then, I sensed there was something deeply honest about them—a way of seeing that spoke not just to the eye, but to something quieter within.
We set out later than our usual hour, the sun already high, a bright coin set into a cloudless blue. The air carries a crisp edge—the unmistakable breath of autumn—yet the sunlight wraps around me like an old friend, warm upon my face, softening the chill that lingers in the shade.
Today feels suspended, hushed, as if the world itself pauses in remembrance. Across the towns and villages of our island, people gather—veterans with polished medals catching the light, families wearing red poppies pinned to coats. They stand shoulder to shoulder at memorials of stone and bronze, their silence deep and dignified. A nation breathes together, hearts bowed in gratitude for those who once walked into darkness so we might live in the light.
A strange, silvery mist has lain across the land this morning—a ghostly shroud still carrying the scent of smoke and celebration. The world feels hushed, as though the earth itself draws a long, slow breath after the chaos of last night’s revelry.
Bonfire Night has passed once more—a night of flickering fires and sparks rising into the sky with wild bursts of colour. And yet, beneath the noise and brilliance, there is always a quiet sorrow. Poor Carys spent the evening curled tightly in her bed, trembling through each burst of sound, her dark eyes wide with fear. The thunder of fireworks may delight humankind, but it terrifies the creatures who share our world. This, I think, is the single part of autumn that I wish I could erase—this cruel contrast between beauty and distress.
I rise with the dawn, feeling the hush of a Sunday that should be a day of rest—yet for us, it is a summons to wander farther. The world is still draped in the lingering chill of night, even as the sun climbs boldly across the sky, spilling golden light over the horizon. I pull on my boots, slip the leash onto my faithful companion, and step out into the quiet promise of the day.