Autumn, that fickle mistress

The morning was damp and mild, almost sultry. A gossamer veil of mist cloaked the voluptuous curves of the river as she wandered languidly to the coast.  An orange flash burst into the tranquil setting as a brightly clad cyclist pedalled by, a harsh, incongruent note, at odds with the muted colours of the autumn leaves littering the river bank.  But the interruption was momentary. A heron stood motionless, his grey plumage fading into the mist like a whisper on a breeze.  Autumn had arrived, offering teasing reminders of the summer past and a glimpse of the winter to come