Dusk falls across Dorset, darkening the fields from Christchurch in the east, past me, way past me out to Lyme Regis in the west.

My week is done, and with it October, and with it the harvest and the last of the warmth that summer left behind. The night will grow dark now, and the year cold, until Christmas comes and winter has us in its grip once more.

And so I raise a glass to those departed — men, women and years all the same. My thirtieth summer has come and gone, and many more remain.

To Lugh and to Loki, to trickster gods and the hosts unseelie, I salute you and drink in your name. A happy Hallowe’en and a blessed Samhain to all of you.