who goes there?

The news tells me that “The Beast from the East” is returning to England. So although there has been no snow in this area for a fortnight, I’ve decided to go back to the photographs I took earlier in the year and find something to write about there.

The day after the last snowfall, I went for a walk in the park very early. It may have been foolish, as what little snow we had had, had turned to ice.
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unseen & unseasonal

So, in the last post – in vino veritas – I was whining and whingeing on about the neverending nothingness and nonoccurrences of the coronavirus lockdown and bemoaning my own lack of life and liberty (never mind the chance to pursue any happiness).

Then I ended up finding a bright sunrise at the bottom of a wineglass. And that got me thinking…
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of hope and happiness

So many people have been anxious to see the back of the year 2020 that I suppose it’s a bit of a pity that the New Year couldn’t have been celebrated more extensively. Personally, though, I’m just glad there aren’t more headlines today reporting illegal gatherings and events to greet 2021.

But much as we have looked ahead to 2021 with optimism and anticipation, I can’t help thinking of Gatsby’s elusive green light – “the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us.”
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not so bright

In the previous blog post, I talked about colour and about the nice bright colours of the photographs I take on my phone. Today, the photos aren’t quite so bright, which is hardly surprising as they were taken after dark with no flash.

I’ve tweaked them a little to make them clearer, though they still retain some of the rather strange brown tinge of the originals.
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cruel deception

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover. But surely, when it’s a book you have read and loved but don’t own a copy of, when you serendipitously find one in a secondhand bookshop you can give silent thanks to Seshat, Sant Jordi, or other bookish divinities and venerable figures, and promise yourself the pleasure of revisiting beloved places and renewing acquaintance with long-lost friends?

Well, maybe. That’s certainly what I thought would happen when I found a copy of Elizabeth Goudge’s A City of Bells last weekend.
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