One of the great things about going home, is that we'll miss the depth of winter. One of the sad things about not coming back until mid year, is that we'll miss the spring. We'll just have to leave that for another time!
We were bemoaning the fact that it was nearly winter and we hadn't seen Autumn. We wanted a proper autumn, the sort that one sees in the picture books, all we had thus far was the odd dark foggy morning.
The fog isn't just about trees disappearing into the horizon, colours become strangely muted. Vibrant yellows become pastels, the sky becomes... err... soft blue?
As we potter along, the ducks are a source of constant amazement. Why they don't simply swim out of the way rather than going to all the effort of flying is something they aren't prepared to explain.
In the early morning stillness, when one squints, this lock on the Canal du Centre looks for all the world like a piece of ancient Chinese architecture.
In Montceau it was difficult to miss this wonderful building disguised as a cube of polished stainless steel. To be fair, not all of us thought it was as beautiful as the one with the camera thought it to be.
My bike rests against an Eclusier's cottage somewhere on the Nivernaise. The morning light is proof positive that I've been up at sunrise at least once this year.
It may be difficult for those who come from a place where there are actual seasons to understand that for those of us who don't, the onset of autumn is a novelty worth writing home about.
I'm probably not quite telling the truth about the dawn thing, it's about an hour after dawn really, but this fog stuff is such a novelty when one has grown up with it appearing every third winter for about fifteen minutes.
When it's cold and blustery and you are somewhere in the wilds of Scotland with a new baby, there are only so many places one can go to feed and change the wee thing.
And it's brand new, so a team effort effort is definitely required!