Up the road, morning.

Sun sun sun at last, and sharp cold.  A strange blend of haze and clarity; the white shapes of  grain silos and water towers hang in blueness like heavenly cities.

Up the road, afternoon (earlier in the week).

The three daffodils by Brochain's, always early, nodding westwards, make me hanker for travel and movement.  Almost.  But there is home, and warm evenings, and fires still to be enjoyed.

Trédaniel plan d'eau, morning.

A flock of seagulls, myriad white flickering splinters against the black sunlit water.

Spiny livid coils of new gunnera leaves push up from the slimy decay of last year's growth.

Up the road, late afternoon.

Below the known fields the pool's dark mirror shining, catches always; the tall spruce standing opaque sentinel between.

Lone bird leaves on winterwood branches; the blue smoke rising at evening.