Early September is always a melancholy time for me, as the return to my school office heralds the darkening of the year and shortening of days. This year that feeling was compounded, as it was the first anniversary of the death of my dog, Ted.
Not that I don't have a Cwtch to love and walk and get exasperated with and ... yes ... cwtch. But she's been put out of action for a couple of weeks, as a result of being spayed. You can see she isn't chuffed about it.
In the field the wild profusion of vegetation is dying back and we can now watch Cwtch's progress as she tussock-jumps from one side to the other. There are few flowers now, and fewer insects.
And someone with nothing else to do has had another go at pulling rotting wood from the hollowing oak, destroying more habitat ...
... though this crocodile doesn't seem perturbed.
There's also been a feeling of wistfulness about Charlton Common, though I think that's more to do with the imminent building works.
There, too, the flowers of summer are making way for autumn, which has its own beauty, of course.