In the space of a few days, the leaves of the giant linden trees at Gamone have turned pale yellow, and started to fall. There has been no autumn wind yet to blow them away (it will come soon), so the lawns are covered with a golden carpet.
Often, the Cournouze is lost in matinal mists above the Bourne.
Later in the morning, at the far end of the valley, mists rise above the great geological saucer known as the cirque (circus) of Choranche.
In my imagination, I too am changing color in harmony with the environment, like a chameleon. My thoughts are becoming autumnal. The ideas and even the words of summer have started to drop away, as they must, like dead leaves. Soon, my mind will need to adjust once again, as usual, to the challenges of cold, solitude and hibernation...