We set off from the ferry in high spirits, but the satnav had other ideas and sent us down a gravel track that ended at someone's back garden. By the time we turned round and found the right lane, the October light was already fading and a fine drizzle had started.

Saeroe sat quietly among the pines, its red wooden walls glowing softly against the wet grass. The key safe clicked open on the first try, which felt like a small victory after our detour. Inside, the wood burner was already laid, and a note from the owner suggested we light it straight away because the evenings were drawing in quickly.

We unpacked our damp coats and stood for a moment just listening to the rain on the roof. The cottage smelled faintly of pine resin and the previous guests' coffee. Through the large window we could see the sea, slate grey and restless, with whitecaps catching what was left of the daylight. It felt exactly right for late autumn; the sort of weather that makes you grateful for four solid walls and a stack of logs.

After a quick cup of tea we ventured out for a short walk along the nearby path. The air was sharp with salt and decaying leaves, and the ground squelched under our boots. We didn't go far, just far enough to stretch our legs and watch a small flock of geese heading south. Back at the cottage the fire had taken nicely, and we pulled two armchairs close to it while the kettle boiled again.

I caught myself smiling at how quickly the day had shifted from mild frustration to this cosy stillness. The mishap on the way in had actually done us a favour; without it we might have arrived earlier and missed the particular charm of watching the light slip away over the water. In summer the same view would probably have been all bright sails and long evenings, but now the season asked for slower rhythms, thicker socks, and the simple pleasure of staying put.

By the time we cooked a simple supper the rain had eased to a soft patter. We ate by the window, watching the last gulls wheel over the bay before darkness settled properly. Outside, the pines swayed gently, and inside the wood burner ticked as it warmed the room. It struck me that the best part of the stay so far was not any grand plan, but the way the October weather had quietly rearranged our expectations. Instead of rushing about, we were content to sit, listen, and let the cottage do the work of making us feel at home.