Pictorial blethers

By blethers


I've just been listening to the weather forecast on the telly - it's such a calm night that the arrival of Storm Barra on Tuesday seems completely unlikely, only I know it's not. Today, on the other hand, was perfect - barely any wind; unblemished blue sky; a perfect sunset. No wonder I was seduced by another afternoon of sky shots.

The morning may have been beautiful, but it was also pretty chilly. When I stood by the organ console to sing the Communion anthem in church I felt the cold air pour down the long window behind us and pool round my feet - no wonder Himself can barely prise himself off the organ bench at the end of a service! And we had to wait for the church Annual Meeting - but it was admirably brief and good-humoured, not to say amusing. (Think of the opportunities offered by the simple item on the agenda: Finish with Grace, when you have a Grace in the congregation ...)

Coffee, a fire and a brisk lunch had us set up to go out again, to walk over the road between the farms at Ardyne. Himself was being careful, and left me to walk on more speedily by myself - up the road in the deceptively warm glow of the declining sun and the warm sweet smells of silage, back down again in the suddenly deepening gloom after the sun had vanished behind Bute, leaving only a distant glow - which is when I stepped smartly aside as the gritting lorry passed and took this photo from almost-in-the-ditch. The distant hills beyond the dark mass of Bute are on Arran, so this is really my dream view. If you look very carefully you may be able to see sheep down against the first line of hedge ...

I was home in time to engage in a fierce tussle with Future Conditional Verbs in Duolingo; I made so many stupid mistakes I became thoroughly fed up. Trouble is, once I landed on a streak (I'm at about 560 consecutive days in an unbroken line) my  compulsive side kicked in and I have to do it. It's like Blipping  - my bio says I may or may not take enough photos, but as a compulsive diarist since the age of 10 I should have known I was doomed. The Ancient Mariner of journal-writing - that's me.

I'm being very soothed these evenings by catching up on Portrait Artist of the Year - so many talented artists with such varying techniques! And soothing is good these days, dontcha think?

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