This expanse of autumn leaves is at Talkin Tarn. Now Talkin Tarn is called Talkin Tarn because it is near the village of Talkin. The village of Talkin is called Talkin because that’s its name. I hope that explains everything.
Talkin Tarn itself, in common with many similar small bodies of water round here, was created by an itinerant Holy Man who was passing through and received short shrift from the population of the village, now beneath its waters. Except, that is, for one old woman who lived on the outskirts of the village and who took him in and offered him food and shelter. In exchange, he asked her to throw a shovel as far as she could towards the village. He then spoke the magic words – or whatever Holy Men did in those days – and the waters rose up and covered the whole village, only stopping when it reached the shovel.
Judging by how many small lakes or tarns around here have a similar story attached to them, we’ve had a very touchy bunch of Holy Men in the past. I’m not sure if they’re any better these days, I haven’t come across any recently. I am keeping a shovel handy though – it’s better to be safe than sorry.