He loved this time of year. Crisp, clear mornings or damp, gloomy afternoons, it didn’t matter. The cold didn’t bother him, neither did the rain nor the wind. He was indelibly weathered, having lived his whole life here on the hill and having worked outdoors for much of that time.

He loved this time of year because, at the first swirl of fallen leaves, his wife would start making her winter warmers for his tea. Delicious, gravy-laden pies, hearty…