Its the season where you seem to get all sorts of weather in quick succession.
One day you need coat and umbrella, the next the skies are blue and the talk is of Indian summers. Its also seems to be the time of year when mists roll down the Thames along with the tide.
Its rather poetic, as the bridges at Putney dramatically rise from the clouds (above). Lighters are unmasked, glimpsed briefly and then the curtain is drawn across again:
Wraiths, columns of air and suspended microscopic droplets of water, stalk down river.
Then the sun bursts through, evaporating these apparitions and imaginations, and it is time to get back to work.