Sunlight seems better than a studio light at the right moment in the garden against the pale wall of the house.
Frost at last this morning. Not much, but something to welcome after the recent, unseasonal weather. I sit outside Ishmael's in the sun with a pot of Ooh Long. The subtle perfume of the tea, fine as a passing thought, makes me feel virtuous. The wind chills my ears -the same wind that seems to have made the frost vanish.
On the display counter of the butcher's, a skinned rabbit lies, its modesty preserved, with only its legs protruding, from under a sheet of sheet of greaseproof paper. The label beside it says: "tame rabbit." It strikes me that this rabbit could scarcely be more tame.
3 comments:
The photograph of the rosehip is reminiscent of the illustrations of plants on fine glossy paper, the products of the floral illustrators, whose brushwork vied with the camera's lens.
I do admire the way the elements in your posts, while on the surface unrelated, always do link up in undefinable ways.
Strange, isn't it Dave. Perhaps all things really are connected. Or, when you think about it, of course they are!
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