Birches at dawn

The sky flushed scarlet this morning as Gus and I toiled up through the wood to the top of the Knott. If only I had the speed and fitness of a collie, alas. We didn't get there in time, caught out by the earlier ascendence of the sun. I was panting while Gus was looking for his reward for reaching the trig point, and the colour was draining away as the yellow of the rising sun intensified. Yet it was still a finer morning than I had expected. The birches are so distinctive in silhouette, tall, almost spindly, a filigree of fine branches and twigs, the twigs bearing the maturing catkins.

Afterwards the cloud cover gradually thickened on a day with little wind. We went to see Sue and Rowan in the afternoon. Gus and Rowan now amicably compete for a ball, and Gus spends less energy on Rowan rounding.

I may be a little comment-light this evening. We have a few things to finish off before tomorrow, and I need an early night. Thank you for all the stars and hearts for the last two blips, sorry if I have not said thank you yet in person.