THIS morning saw the first real frost across the fields of Villefranche du Pergigord, the grass and bushes glistening in the sunshine.
Earlier this week the television news had reported on the early winter snowfalls in the Pyrenees, over a metre fell in 24 hours.
And as I came back from taking my dog, Holly, for a walk Madame Doucet who helps tend the gardens close to my house, smiled as my dog sprinted past her barking.
“Il fait froid ce matin,” she said.
I reply that it must have been cold last night and that it feels like winter is approaching.
“Oh yes, it was minus two in the village overnight, I checked my thermometer when I set out this morning,” said Madame Doucet.
At this time of year the sound of chainsaws cutting up trees for wood burning stoves echoes around the hillsides.
When you walk through the villages the smell of wood smoke drifts past you on the cold wind.
Occasionally you pass a half-open door and can hear someone cracking small twigs and wood, preparing kindling for their fire.
Up and down the roads tractors are dragging flat-loaders stacked with logs delivering them to homes as people stock up for the next few months.
In the evening when you drive along the deserted roads you will hit pockets of mist sat in the hollows or drifting along a stream.
In the morning, if you are up early, large banks of mist will line the valley floor yet on the hills the warmth of the sun can be felt.
And on these chilly mornings the local hunters will be out at the weekend looking for wild boar or the occasional deer.
Last Sunday they were lucky and the men came back with a stag, but it is no pot-shot as there are rules and regulations to be followed.
One of the hunters, Pierre, explained to me that they have to report back to the Dordogne authorities everything that they shoot – and that the stag was an exception.
“Each animal is tagged and noted,” he said as he pointed at the fluorescent bracelet attached to the back leg of the stag.
“We can only shoot a couple of stag in a year, but they are difficult to track down anyway so this one is quite rare.”
As the hunters knocked back a shot of Ricard the stag was weighed and measured before being prepared for each of the men to take a portion home.
Later in the day as the sun begins to set the sky turns crimson red, with the chill of the approaching night in the air.