Ordinary things have been given a magical makeover. The showers that drown me and make my feet squelch make the granite pavements sparkle with dancing light. The blue skies captured over the city are windswept and wild, leaves are soggy underfoot and scarves whip in the wind.

Autumn frames pictures everywhere I look.

Autumn brings the changing of the clocks – the harbinger of the season of navel gazing, of pasta, of potatoes, of sticky toffee pudding warm from the oven. I pinch two inches and complain im getting fat. I’m drained from forcing my way along the high street in the stinging rain. I know im going to catch the flu. I wish I could hibernate until the bluebells return.

Winter is coming.

Small things matter. The fire on when I get home. Bangers and mash after a wild walk along the beach. Realising just how many herbs and spices go into making your own mulled wine and still buying them, as it has to be just right. Arguing about who is going to cook Christmas dinner. And wash up. Watching the lights go on in the trees, Christmas markets and wooden toys. Of Hogmanay ceilidhs to come, kilts to be worn, sequins to buy.

Small things matter when the nights get dark and the waiting for the New Year begins, small things matter as I wait to start afresh in spring.