Golden leaves that fell dry now crack and collapse underfoot into the damp ground. Discarded firework casings litter the path and remind me that the beauty seen in the night sky a few days ago comes at a price. The sun is up but veiled behind dense clouds and the air still and heavy with a cold, moist edge cuts through clothing. It is the time of the year when nothing ever dries till a long frost claws back all the moisture and deposits it like silver gilt on the ground