Going down..
Within the railings that enclose the side of King Charles the Martyr is a deceased umbrella. Its spokes protrude in all direction from its shattered web of black nylon.
.
As I walk briskly through the damp air - it is dripping rather than raining - I can detect no beautiful thing for the moment to post when I get home. But home now, sitting at my desk, I feel warm and comforted as I sip my tea. Beside me is the screen, to which I can transfer these impressions, a further source of comfort.
2 comments:
Is that a poppy, so like the millions that self seed all around our garden?
Ah, indeed, the comforts of home do now include our faithful computers. What would we do without them?
I feel rather like that about my walks at the moment, that I simply can't find an impression I haven't used or recorded before, and the weather and world are so monochrome... yet I feel better for doing them anyway, and for making myself step back and observe and think about them, albeit fruitlessly.
Which actually constitutes an impression, I suppose.
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