Me: There’s something awfully romantic about a sea mist.
Nell: Here we go.
Me: The way it moves across the sky mysteriously covering everything in its cloak.
Nell: Good grief.
Me: Then just as quickly the cloak is lifted and everything reappears. Magical.
Nell: Actually it’s a bit damp, if you ask me, and spoils the view.
Me: It didn’t spoil our walk though, did it? We couldn’t get Harriet out of the sea.
Nell: Harriet adores the water.
Me: She might be a Merdog.
Nell: There’s no such thing.
Me: You don’t know. There could be.
Nell: Autumn does this to you.
Nell: It takes you away on flights of fancy.
Me: ‘Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness’.
Nell: And you start quoting John Keats.
Me: He’s one of my favourite poets.
Nell: I thought I was your favourite poet.
Me: You are. Don’t forget Jonathan will be 5 on 19th September. He’ll be expecting a poem.
Nell: And he will get one.
Me: Autumn used to be my mother’s favourite time of the year. Her birthday was in September.
Nell: I know.
Me: She loved the colours of the leaves.
Me: And she loved the sound they made when you walked through them.
Nell: She did.
Me: I have so many happy memories of autumn walks with her.
Nell: Nobody can take those away from you.
Nell: But now it is time to make new memories.
Me: You’re right.
Nell: Which is why I’ve enrolled you and Kev in the new dance school.
Me: The one run by Juanita and the Portuguese Podenco?
Nell: Somebody has to keep an eye on them.
Me: I’m too old to dance, Nell.
Nell: Nobody is ever too old for a little magic.
Me: Yes. Sorry.