Workington

… with sea rocket and some faffing.

It started to rain and lashed it down all the way home and dropped to 14 degrees.
The working day had passed okay but as I drove back and switched channels on the radio Nimrod was playing. It always catches me out. Everything was weighted in its moment. The ragwort impossibly growing out of the pavement, the sodden emptiness of the cricket pitch, the fields abandoned mid harvest and the Pennines looking on ghostlike and disappearing into a lost horizon. The fragile and sad complexity of life in a timeless moment.