It is rare for me to visit the same place twice within a couple of weeks, but my walk in the Teifi Marshes recently was curtailed by heavy rain, and I feel that I have unfinished business. Last time I started from the Cilgerran end of the marsh, so today begin at the seaward side – crossing the bridge over the Teifi and heading upstream past the site of the old, sadly long-departed Cardigan railway station.

My route follows the former course of the railway line, but I briefly divert along a boardwalk into the broad reedbeds at the heart of the marsh. Here, I am surrounded by the ambient sound of the wind in the reeds, which ebbs and flows with an almost animate organic static – pushing back the distant sounds of traffic on the main road. Scrub and small trees interact with the reeds at the margins, their autumn bounty of fruits already well advanced. The blackberries are almost over, but the sloes are plump and mature with the promise of a warming winter spirit to come.

Back on the main trail, a weasel, a low blur of fur and legs, dashes across the path in front of me just as the sun emerges from banks of grey cloud. The new shadows make me look up. Beyond the mile or so of reedbed, the valley side is wooded with deciduous trees just beginning to fade into autumn colours. Among them, a few bare crowns of what I take to be dead ash trees stand skeletal, awaiting the winter storm

Reedbeds at the margin of the Afon Teifi. Photograph: John Gilbey

The Afon Teifi is tidal here, and it is about an hour after high water. The level in the creek off the main channel is starting to fall, exposing freshly wetted mud. Along the edge of the water, a pair of dunlin explore what the receding tide has left on offer, hunting with their short bills and jerky movements, while nearby ducks take a more leisurely approach. On my last visit, I caught a glimpse of a kingfisher from this spot, but today it is absent – as is the heron I had hoped to get a better picture of. Next time, perhaps. Next time.