November, Night Time Canoe Ride.
I’ve just got into a canoe with Frank and Slinky. It’s dark, it’s cold and I’m ashamed to say, I’m grumbling. But as we push off into the glassy water my discontent evaporates instantly. Night’s shadowy cloak has transformed the lake we thought we knew so well. Strange shapes loom over us and disappear. We are gently engulfed by thick, soft, wet blackness....
November, In Defence of Leaden Skies.
Leaden skies are as British as cucumber sandwiches, which, interestingly are usually eaten under leaden skies while watching a leaden game of cricket. (But that’s another story.) Grey skies are what give us our soft climate. Layer upon layer of cloud keep us warm in the winter and cool in the summer. The English rose complexion is almost entirely due to lack of direct sunlight. That, and a...
November, The Woodcock Moon.
The full moon on Thursday frightened me nearly to death. I’d been drawing the sun as it blazed through trees and spilled round the edges of clouds. I’d been contemplating all things light and sunny. So although my mind was still in the heavens, I would have been less surprised to find an axe murderer behind me. (though less pleased, perhaps!) The giant celestial orb had crept...
November, The Disrobing of the Field Maple
While my back was turned (I’ve been away for a few days) the beautiful field maple has disrobed. Like any glamorous love interest knows, there comes a time when you shimmy out of your breathtakingly slinky attire and into the hero’s embrace. To spare your blushes the camera looks lingeringly at the sensuously rumpled heap of expensive material at your bare feet. Well, field maple are...