We’d only just left the A55 when the satnav decided to play silly buggers, sending us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors practically kissed the hedges. By the time we pulled up outside Hunters Cottage, the late-autumn sun was already low, turning the sky that soft, bruised pink you only seem to get on Anglesey in October. I stepped out, stretched, and immediately put my foot straight into a puddle that had been masquerading as solid ground. One soggy trainer later, we were laughing at ourselves while the cottage’s little slate porch offered its first proper welcome.

Inside, the wood burner was already crackling, someone from the owners having kindly lit it ahead of our arrival. The warmth hit us like a hug after the damp drive, and the faint smell of woodsmoke mixed with the sea air drifting through the open door. From the sitting-room window we could just make out the curve of the beach at Benllech, the tide far out and the wet sand catching the last of the light. It felt like the cottage had been waiting for exactly this sort of evening.

We unpacked in that unhurried way holidays allow, then wandered the short path to the shore before it got properly dark. The October wind carried a proper nip, the sort that makes you zip your coat right up to your chin, but the emptiness of the beach was glorious. No buckets and spades, just a few dog walkers and the rhythmic hush of waves that sounded louder than they looked. I found myself thinking how different this would feel in July, when the same stretch would be noisy with families and the air thick with suncream. Right then, though, the quiet suited us perfectly.

Back at the cottage we cooked a simple supper while rain began to patter against the windows. The seasonal shift was impossible to ignore; the shorter days meant we were indoors earlier, but that only made the cottage cosier. We sat with mugs of tea, feet tucked under blankets, listening to the fire settle and the odd gust rattle the letterbox. It struck me, watching the flames, how easily I’d slipped into this slower rhythm. Usually I’d be checking emails or planning the next day’s itinerary, yet here the early dark and cooler air seemed to press pause without asking permission.

By the time we turned in, the rain had eased to a soft drizzle and the cottage felt like it had folded itself around us. Outside, the tide was coming in again, steady and unhurried, the same way autumn itself seemed to be moving through the island.