We take our lunch in Cavendish Square almost every day, even as autumn advances and summer is long gone. The cold is knocking at the door like an unwelcome but long-expected guest. We sit on the grass which always seems dry even after a rainfall, seeking out the small patches of sunshine. The early-fallen leaves race across the square like a marauding army, leaving their dying brethren in the dirt, only to rush back in retreat when the wind changes. We lie back and feel the cool air and enjoy this oasis, away from work in the middle of the city. It feels like a small miracle.

This is one of Turner’s most dramatic paintings, amazing to see in person. This card must be from the early 1990s. 

I realised after I’d scanned it that I had mis-labeled it #78 when it’s actually missive #79.