Leaves beneath water, ice and reflected sky.
This morning the slow movement of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto, greets my ears when I switch on Radio 4. Genius, I think to myself, is evident when a composer or a writer produces something that leaves you amazed, and unable to comprehend the boundaries of its perfection. It seems to encompass the mysteries and vastness of the universe. Mozart's clarinet concerto is my favourite piece of music.
At this time of year, the morning sky, behind the tulip tree, is illuminated by the rising sun, filtered by mist, so that it resembles a bright sheet of white porcelain. The black branches of the old tree are silhouetted against the sky and, like the squirrels and birds that inhabit them, are magnified in their simplicity like the scenery of a puppet theatre. When , tea in hand, I watch them through the bedroom window, it seems that pigeons, squirrels and an occasional crow, are putting on a show just for me.