AS DUSK slowly embraced the inner Forth, I watched mesmerised as incoming chevrons of wild geese flighted-in to roost by fields and mudflats near Cambus.

They were greylags and lots of them, honking excitedly as they circled in preparation for landing.

Watching these evening flights of geese on the move to their roosts is one of nature's special experiences.

It is a cacophony of noise that is part of autumn's being, so spellbinding that one could never tire of listening to their calls sweeping across the estuary.

Greylags that breed in Iceland usually don't arrive until later in the month, so I presumed these early heralds on the River Devon estuary at Cambus were geese that hailed from the north of Scotland.

Whatever the case, they brought wonderful vibrancy to the cool evening air, and as I wandered along the farm track that leads towards Blackgrange, their calls were a constant companion.

Earlier that evening, as I had made my way up the Devon estuary, other signs of autumn were about, including the first teal of the season dabbling in the muddy shallows. Teal are delightful little ducks, so graceful and elegant.

Because Cambus is adjacent to the warming influence of the Forth, wildflowers tend to bloom here for longer than in many more inland parts of Clackmannanshire, and the bright yellow heads of tansy and purple-hued tufted vetch shone out from the tracksides; a last-gasp flowering before autumn takes full grip.

As I headed back for home in the fading light, the geese were still honking; they were the calls from our northern lands, which echoed across the wildness of estuary and slowly diminished in the breeze.