I’ll never forget the drive to The Nave in Wells, Somerset, that crisp autumn afternoon – leaves swirling like confetti from the hedgerows as I trundled down the A371 from Shepton Mallet. It was mid-October, the kind of season where Somerset puts on its golden glow, with trees ablaze in russet and amber, and a chill in the air that promises woodsmoke and cosy nights. I’d booked this three-day getaway on a whim, craving a break from London’s grey drizzle, and as I neared Wells, the cathedral’s spires poked up like ancient fingers against a sky streaked with copper clouds. Perfect timing, I thought – until I took a wrong turn onto a narrow lane and ended up nosing into a muddy puddle that splashed my windscreen with Somerset’s finest clay. “Brilliant,” I muttered, laughing at myself as I reversed out, wiping the muck with a soggy tissue. A proper daft start, but hey, it felt like the county was giving me a cheeky welcome.

Pulling up outside The Nave just as the sun dipped low, I was gobsmacked. Tucked right in the shadow of Wells Cathedral – you could practically hear the clock chime from the doorstep – this little stone cottage screamed quintessential Somerset charm. Autumn had dressed it up beautifully: ivy clinging to the walls in fiery reds, and pots of chrysanthemums nodding in the breeze outside the front door. I fumbled the key from the lockbox, my breath fogging in the sharp air, and stepped inside. First impressions? Pure magic. The open-plan living space hit me with a wave of warmth from the wood-burning stove, already laid with kindling and a stack of logs that smelled of damp earth and pine. Outside the huge windows, the cathedral loomed like a fairy-tale giant, its honeyed stone bathed in that slanting October light that turns everything ethereal.

I dumped my bags and brewed a cuppa – proper builder’s tea, milky and strong – sinking into the squishy sofa with a sigh. The seasonal shift was everywhere: through the panes, I watched rooks wheeling over the close, their cries sharp against the rustle of falling leaves. Wells in autumn feels alive in a quiet way, not the bustle of summer tourists, but a hushed intimacy. No crowds milling about Vicars’ Close, just the odd local strolling with a dog, scarves flapping. I nipped out for a quick wander before dusk, crunching over pavements littered with conkers and acorns. The air was laced with that bonfire tang, and the cathedral green was carpeted in a mosaic of gold and brown – nature’s own tapestry. Back at The Nave, I lit the stove, flames crackling to life as the room filled with flickering shadows. Cosier than a hug from your nan.

First evening, I rustled up supper from the well-stocked kitchen – local cheddar from the farmers’ market I’d spotted en route (cheesy heaven, that stuff), crusty bread, and apples crisp as fresh snow. Eating by candlelight – because why not? – I gazed out at the cathedral illuminated against the twilight, its windows glowing like jewels. October’s early dark wrapped the cottage in a blanket of peace; no light pollution here, just stars peeking through wispy clouds. It struck me then, in a gentle moment of reflection, how this time of year strips things back. No frantic hikes or pub crawls like in summer; instead, it invites you to pause, to notice the way the season slows Somerset to a thoughtful rhythm. I’d arrived frazzled from city life, but The Nave’s first embrace – all that amber light, crackling fire, and whispering winds – had me unwinding like a tightly wound spring.

Next morning dawned misty, the kind of Somerset fog that clings to the Levels like a lover. Peering out from the bedroom’s cathedral-view window, I felt like I’d woken in a Constable painting – dew-jeweled spiderwebs on the garden fence, the close shrouded in soft greys. Breakfast was porridge with honey from a nearby hive (autumn’s bounty, innit?), and I spent the day pottering: a short stroll to the market cross for pasties steaming with sausage and cider, then back to read by the fire as rain pattered the panes. The Nave’s first impressions deepened with the season’s moods – invigorating chills one hour, then sudden sunbeams piercing the clouds, gilding the stonework outside. Light-hearted mishap forgotten, I was smitten. If autumn’s your thing, this spot’s a dream; it turns a simple stay into something profoundly restorative. Can’t wait to return when the leaves are at their peak again.