That time of year

A day so dull and still you cannot tell where the sun is in the sky

Crisp bright weather nips at your toes, the trees put on their red and yellow best

Grimy grey mizzle seeps down your neck like cold rain running down a drain

Watery sunlight casts it's magic light on the dewy spider's webs filling them full of diamonds

Too late for autumn to early for winter, the moods of this month are full of contrasts

 Fickle November