A soft sun sets sail across a deep sky as an autumnal galleon to circumnavigate the northern half of the world. That is how I see it as I tread across a russet path laid down from the lack of warmth. For as this galleon of lessening light sinks into winter so the trees jettison their summer cargo. Leaves, once the sails that had unfurled and set before fair winds shred and fall, leaving the squirrels visible in the timber rigging like marauding pirates. For me the joy is always in the leaves underfoot, the clear and cool days and the sound of water. Ever it has been the same in November.