My son is eleven years old tomorrow and last night we took him and three of his friends (along with his tag-along sister) for something to eat.
I was surprised when we came back outside to stumble into a proper, bonafide Summer evening. A nice reminder that the season hasn’t conceded to Autumn just yet.
I have to say that it didn’t feel particularly summery when we went inside. The summer lovin’ happened so fast.
I thought I’d give you all a three-photo recap of the week so far. It began with me discovering the Winter-Spring dividing line. It seems that some of the snow has spilled over from one season to the other. It’s time to build that wall.
Tuesday I decided to go for a peaceful walk , just me, the dog and two Apache helicopters.
My daughter Millie has just turned fourteen and had a few friends around in the back garden for a Covid-friendly gathering. In the evening this was the aftermath, glittering tinsel like confetti from a full-sized champagne bottle party popper. In a few more birthdays I dread to think what this aftermath will look like. I don’t think there will be confetti in the bottles.
It’s not only the sun that the daffodils come out for.
Wrapping up well, I took my dog Bryn on a walk tonight. I stopped on a hill, high on my estate, to take a photograph (1) of the lights of Oldham, shining in the distance. Photographs 2 and 3 shows just what can happen when you’re taking a photograph while holding a dog lead and the damn dog decides to go for a run 😂
Maybe I’ve discovered a new art form. To go with the new puddle.
I took this photograph a few days ago of a local fishing pond, frozen over.
There’s not much colour in it, is there?
January has always been bleak, even without the added burden of a national lockdown.
The lines of a poem in my first collection, Heading North, come to mind:
There’s not much colour in that either, is there?
But that was the particular tone of that poem, it is called Laments of the Urban Dead after all.
But we can still hold hope, if not joy.
I know I keep banging the same drum, but before we know it spring will be sprung, to be followed by the first fruits of summer. You know how it works.
Seasons don’t follow lockdown rules, nature doesn’t adhere to restrictions.
So hang in there, Jackdaw friends, wherever you are and whatever circumstances you find yourselves in, there are brighter days to come.
Chess players in Moscow, during the 50’s.
Now that’s what I call hardcore.
I love this photo by Arthur Leipzig of children looking at Christmas toys in 1944. The little girl at the bottom looks like she just can’t stand the allure, I think I’d have to buy her something.
Anyway, have a great weekend everybody, Christmas is a week today.
I hope you get all you wish for. Be careful what you wish for.
See you on the flip side.
Whether it’s morning,
in this crossover point between Autumn and Winter; the liminal moments of dawn and dusk; the seasons throw up some wonderful skies.
California, 1918, time of the Spanish Flu