I'm on a plane to London first thing tomorrow morning and today our bit of France is doing everything it can to persuade me to stay.
We put back the clocks this morning and it's nearly November, yet Tod is sitting on a lounger by the pool, reading and sun bathing. Not IN the pool mind you - it really has got too cold and tomorrow the pool is going to be wrapped up and put to bed for the winter.
The garden is full of butterflies taking the last sweet mouthfuls of the remaining windfall apples that are frosted and bruised. The remaining shrivelled bunches on the vines along the veranda still have a few fat juicy grapes that we steal from the lazy hornets. The flavour is a rich heady muscat.
The light across the fields is bleaching everything to pale greys and browns. It hasn't rained for a month and the small plants I've put around the base of the roses need daily watering.
This morning we woke again to mist touched with the light from the rising sun. As I opened the veranda doors to my bedroom, the cottage that I see across the fields was sitting on its own small pink cloud.
Tonight when we shut the shutters we will pile logs on the fire and have apple charlotte for pudding.
Tomorrow morning we will leave the dogs asleep and set out at 6.30am to drive along the péage motorway to Toulouse for my flight to Gatwick.