In case anyone who read Boxing Day (posted on December 26th) might be envious of me enjoying glorious sunshine on an exotic beach, let me clarify that it was an old poem, and, as is usually the case, I am not the narrator.
To clarify further, this is a photo taken from the window of a train I was travelling on yesterday:
I didn’t find much inspiration in the mud, other than to notice:
rooks and magpies
in sodden fields
stark agains the mud,
the sudden white of swans
I think Robert Louis Stevenson must have had better weather for his train journey. If you’ve forgotten what he saw, you can read From a railway carriage here .