Tuesday, November 24, 2020

My Week in ... sights

I don't know about you, but I've been working with a lamp switched on all day today. Now I'm finally looking up from the screen, I can see that outside is as gloaming as outside, bar a pool of yellow light that makes the surrounding houseplants glow. 

And speaking of sights, here are 7 of mine that I'd like to acknowledge from the previous week. Well, no one wants to acknowledge the sight of their bin unless necessary, surely?

Little Mabel is now allowed outside: she's throwing herself around the garden, ears pricked and eyes wide with joy at every waving dandelion or bumbling midge. Although it's comical and delightful to see, I'm terrified she'll discover there is an Outside The Garden and will head over the fence to explore the wide world. 

My Dad, from a respectable distance, on his birthday. 71, although in my head, he's still 40. 

The skeleton of trees, no longer hiding their modesty with leaves, along the tow path. I like seeing bare branches of oaks and horse chestnuts reaching up into the sky, or the willow's just brushing the surface of the canal. 

Fairy lights going up in windows. Yes, it's still only November. Yes, we all need the cheer that fairy lights bring. I'm putting mine up at the weekend. 

Some truly awesome dark skies that made everything look as though it had been outlined in black ink and set against an almost purple backdrop. 

Anemones! Glorious purple brave flowers still unfurling their buds because it's unreasonably mild

A gorgeous icy foggy morning that airbrushed the houses and made Mabel sneeze when she sniffed the frozen grass. 

Scrolling through photos from the past, I can see that only a couple of years ago, Novembers were always frosty. Walking my dearly-departed hound in the early hours with only a hint of dawn on the horizon to light our way, we'd crunch over icy grass, watch our breath mist the air and marvel (well, I would, he was less bothered on account of being a dog) at the finely traced lines of frost on leaves. I miss him and I miss those mornings. But I do enjoy not being woken at 5am by an animal who has no concept of the clock changes.

Scene from a previous life. Oh give me a misty, frosty
morning over a humid summers one, any day. 

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