Up the road, afternoon

The firs are dark against the cloud-opalescing sun, not quite blue, nor grey, nor green.  One gull whirls on a wingtip, counterchanging, between sky and trees, now dark, now light.

Up the road, afternoon.

Three partridges scuttle away across the bare stalks of the maize field.

The mirabelle hedge has been pruned, the logs with their rose-gold cross sections piled neatly between the trunks.

Hill above Henon, afternoon

Looking out  towards the sea, the upright white marks of water towers suddenly remind me of the old stone cisterns of the villages on the Mani peninsular on the Peloponnese.

Tredaniel plan d'eau, morning.

Some of the short, fat, grey hazel catkins, biding their time since before Christmas, have, with warmer weather, fluffed out into soft yellow dangles, like expanding foam from a can.

Up the road, afternoon

It's one of those January days with an almost unbelievable ghost of a  promise of spring, where the green on the slopes is gold, in credit at last with light.

Down the road, early evening

The unrelenting grey opens momentarily, showing a delicate blue and rose band of light to the north.

A kestrel perches upright in the air, then settles in the chestnut tree.