The Equinox had fallen on a day of such beauty and unexpected sunshine, that Old Fox had set up the long trestle table in the garden for an early supper. It was draped with the old green velvet tablecloth and there were vases of Michaelmas daisies & decanters of blackberry wine and village apple juice, artichoke soup with fine white bread & bowls of buttered potatoes & golden pies with elaborate crusts, a quince pudding with rich hot custard and a cinnamon plum cake with yellow cream. The light was golden and not quite of this world. It was the colour of old buried treasure hoards, of earth-dimmed torques and Gaulish coins, and a little breeze sent leaves pattering from the trees. To dear Autumn, toasted Old Fox, raising his cider cup to his friends, may She be a merry and gentle one!