Trédaniel plan d'eau, morning.

Ragged robin, a type of wild dianthus, feathery pink beside the water, is one of my favourite late spring flowers, and one I always forget about until it appears again.

Up the road, afternoon; Bel Orient

Four small horse chestnuts -
Conkers from a couple of autumns back
Gloss gone matt, pushed into earth
In black flower pots
Then half-forgotten,
Open their palms,
Made generous by spring.

Hillion peninsular, out with Gillian and Barley

Black dog and cream, in a cheerful truce, flow down the cliffside steps made from railway sleepers. Three hours walking, salty and smelly, happy as sand-pigs, time to go home.

Up the road, afternoon

Blue: speedwell, bluebell, forget-me-not, alkanet, and the underside of rain clouds on the other side of the sky from the sun, a different blue from the sky between the clouds.

Up the road, afternoon

The buzzard's nest has become invisible among the new foliage. I've lost the chance to photograph the bird lifting off, its raptor thighs outstretched, from the thickened mass of twigs.

Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoon

A rabbit, two ducks and a heron make off at our appearance. I regret our intrusion. The ducks circle, quacking, then return. We take the upper path to avoid them.

Up the road, afternoon

The sky steals the drama: luminous heaped clouds, upswept flares, rainy smears, cerulean between, a swatch of rainbow. Yet the jewelled gold-green land still plays out a fine supporting role.

Up the road, and down towards la Tantouille, afternoon

The ploughed clay soil is chopped and tossed in irregular chunks, their flat, planes slick and smooth, catching the light and bristled here and there with stray tufts of grass.

Trédaniel plan d'eau, morning.

The floating flowers I can't name seem to grow more abundantly around the water's edge every year. Tiny, white with yellow centres, standing delicately proud of the surface, something fairylike.

Down the road, evening

The sky is so thickly plotted and pieced with the torn strips of jet trails, that a flash of real cirrus hides like a wildflower in a bed of cultivars.

Plan d'eau, Dinan, last thing.

A quick run around the plan d'eau, then a town walk.

In the garden, last thing, a smell of wood smoke - someone has a fire still - and a skimming meteorite.

Trédaniel plan d'eau, morning.

I sit on my coat on the damp bench in the sun, absorbing the water and sunlight. They freshen and air the spirit, smoothing out some of the doubtful creases.

Bon Abri, Hillion peninsular, afternoon.

We go to the beach collecting photographs, though it is misty and flat. We collect a lot of sand and take it back to the car (the old one, happily).

Down the road, late afternoon.

In the distance, against the grey fog, the black and white cows make their way homeward down the road, looking forward, I imagine, to a warm and companionable milking shed.

Down the road, afternoon.

After the rain, the light makes the land and sky look like painting by numbers: flat, discrete areas of bold colour.

In the corner of a field, bright cobalt bluebells.