And then a nasty, icy, sleety rain begins and very soon the paths are treacherous.

The sky is silvery blue and the horizon is decorated with a frieze of white billowing clouds.

A vivid slash of magenta and orange across the eastern sky between the banks of louring purple clouds.

The sea is almost dead calm and shimmers like silver lame under the clear blue sky.

Every little view between the bushes or the prospect along a path is waiting for the drama to occur.

A row of black headed gulls in winter plumage sit along the rails moving up one at a time as someone approaches.

Once this was an almost industrial landscape where landowners dug for the minerals hidden in the layers of the cliffs and revealed by the chelybeate springs which give the cliffs their distinctive red staining from the iron salts they contain.

Where the grassy areas have been left unmown there is a cornucopia of seed heads of teasels, wild carrots, docks not to mention the thick piles of holm oak acorns and sweet chestnuts.

The colours of summer clothes have gone and it is all black and brown with hoodies up,

Where the sun is able to shine though weakly it makes rays and picks out a single tree and makes its golden leaves shimmer glow.

bove the low clouds to the east the streaks and stripes of bright yellow and gold show where the sun is out of bed but still out of sight.

A narrow strip of golden sky intervenes abruptly between the sombre grey cloud and the ruler sharp, steel grey horizon.

A single, flat topped fungus grows up beside the path. It has a faint pink glow to its top.

A fly with gorgeous blue wings and glittering eyes settles on the rugged pink, green and brown bark of a pine trunk.

Although it’s not raining, everything is damp and dripping wet. The grass is vibrant green. It’s enjoying this late warm autumn.

A kestrel hangs on the blast its wings barely fluttering at the edges as it concentrates on something in the gorse below.

Where the sun strikes through the trees it produces shadows dark and mysterious and throws the rugged bark of the pines into deep, dramatic relief.

The long lines of old man breakers rush towards the shore, white hair flying out behind them

And the oak tree, now divested of leaves, has taken on another green canopy - a ragged tent or awning of some sort. It does not look convincing.

The heavy, navy blue clouds are punched through with a gap that discloses the bright day above and beyond.