Still, silent days where the mill pond lays perfectly flat and suspends the scene. Those days when the only sounds are the piecing cries of birds and the almost imperceptible kiss of a leaf onto the water's surface. The world stands still and reflects. I pause, hold my breath, listening for anything, something, anything, and sigh. Pressing on with footsteps onto the soft earth with sodden leaves becoming churned in. Not a sign of movement anywhere. The almost stagnant decline of autumn into winter ticks along at snails pace. 

Gathering my thoughts, my camera, I watch a while then freeze frame a vista here, a vista there for days to come, when I shan't believe that life ever once existed here, let alone died.