I usually check the weather forecast when I get up in the morning, although I’m really not very sure why, as they inevitably get it wrong. And sometimes the outlook is so very, very bleak that it’s better not to know what’s in store.
This morning, according to the BBC, the day was set to be grey. Not wet; not thick black cloud. Just grey. There was no sign of sunshine or rain or snow. Nothing but monotonous grey.
Continue reading “something to look forward to”
When I was a child, my family used to attend church regularly. The minister was a kind man who cycled round the town as he said it put him in closer contact with his parishioners than driving a car would. I don’t know how the adults felt about him, but I was a shy little girl and he must have been one of the few men I trusted.
Perhaps what I remember most is that he had a story for every occasion and could turn any situation into a learning experience without it coming across as heavy-handed or didactic.
Continue reading “nature lessons”
Over the years, I’ve done a lot of travelling on the railway line between Gloucester and South Wales, which runs for quite a long stretch beside the Severn Estuary.
I usually try to sit with my back to the engine, and preferably a window seat so I can look out at the river. Although the view is very familiar, I can seldom resist snapping a picture or two.
Sometimes it’s of the view back towards Gloucester.
Continue reading “never the same twice”
Sometimes it seems you’re stuck in a place or a situation and can’t get out. There don’t seem to be any doors to open onto new possibilities and there don’t seem to be any windows, either, to cast any light on the situation.
It’s all brick walls.
But I was brought up in a London suburb, in an area where all the houses were built of red brick, so bricks remind me of home.
Continue reading “brick walls”
I think there are certain flowers and plants that you just have to admire.
True, I would probably immediately love the poppy for the inner contradiction it displays with the brash scarlet colouring and the paper-fine delicacy of its ballerina-skirt petals.
