Not only was September proving to be constantly wet and windy, just like the months that had preceded it, but in the wild west Highlands of Scotland the days were now getting shorter very rapidly, and the air, which had never been very warm, was getting noticeably colder. Although the autumn had scarcely begun, the temperature had already dipped into single figures (celsius) at times, and even in the middle of the day there was a freshness which had been absent since the spring.
But Algy's feathers were warm and fluffy, so unlike his human friends he was not disturbed by the falling temperatures; in fact, he was pleased that he could now forget the dismal summer just past, and look forward to a more normal pattern of seasons ahead.
And as the garden was full of ripe autumn berries, he decided to indulge himself a wee bit while he had the chance, for he knew that once the migrating birds arrived from over the sea, they would completely clear the fruit in a matter of days.
Settling contentedly among the branches of a small cotoneaster bush, Algy looked at the scarlet berries around him and, recalling a happy wee autumn poem, he wondered what he could find to decorate himself for the new season:
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.
[Algy is thinking of the poem Autumn by the 19th century American poet Emily Dickinson.]