This morning, walking to work:
An autumn morning, with a slight dampness in the air, and cold enough to see a fine mist of my breath. Trees half-bare, but still clinging to copper and gold leaves, and two magpies talking to each other from adjoining tree-tops. A sparrow, tiny and perfect, so close I could almost touch him, and starlings in busy flocks. The feral pigeons, scruffy and bold, not bothered at all by human closeness. Honeysuckle luxuriant in green and white, weighing down a trellis around a doorway. Splashes of colour in the gardens, here loud scarlets, there a shyer blue, The clouds on the horizon imitating strange, forest-covered hills.
Just sometimes, it can be so beautiful.