It was an astonishing sunrise; and up on the hills it was autumn already, the braken golden in its death throws, the trees bare and the temperature just a few degrees above freezing. The coombes and the woods were still lush and verdant, not exactly high su
mmer, but warmer and greener; a good place to get lost in. Except that I didn't get lost! At least not in Hodders Combe. For the first time, I managed to find my way though to Holcombe, where, typically, I took the wrong combe back up to the hills and so missed Woodlands Hill. But 
in so doing I found a pond that I had never before known existed. Big enough but sadly not deep enough to swim in, yet startling and beautiful none the less. 
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