November was for the most part mild (and rainy. And windy. And unpleasant). Until the very last week. This shot from the bedroom window yesterday pointed out fairly forcibly that winter has arrived.
For Brian’s Last on the Card.
Five random words. Paula, over at Lost in Translation posts five different words every month, and invites bloggers to choose five different photos to illustrate them. Well, I decided I’d join in. But I thought I’d have even more fun if I wrangled those five words into a piece of doggerel to accompany my images. Here we go…
The five words are …
FAMILIAR, SELECTED, NAUTICAL, REFRACTION, SPLENDID
A retired Major General from Hove with the moniker Algernon Gove said ‘Before life unravels I must finish my travels.’ And forthwith he made plans to rove. He selected some places to stay: His first port of call was Norway. He thought he'd get bored with a trip round a fjord. But he found it quite splendid, if grey. . Thereafter, he thought the romance Of a yacht sailing slowly to France Would just do the trick. But the poor chap was sick. What nautical mis-happenstance! Dry land seemed a safer idea. Get his plans and his thoughts into gear. The familiar? Go home? Or a day-trip to Rome? Or ditch the whole plan till next year? He mused - and looked up at the sky Which was sulky and grey - though now dry. And saw the attraction Of a rainbow’s refraction It was time to bid drifting ‘goodbye’. So what did the old fellow do then? It needs planning, the where and the when. But I’ve got a hunch That after his lunch He’ll announce an adventure. Amen.
Before he retired, the Major General was commanding chaps like the fellows shown in the featured photo.
We’ve had a lot of misty-moisty mornings lately, and I turned this photo up when looking for soft-focus shots for this week’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge. This isn’t for that challenge: I just thought this hardy creature deserved her five minutes of fame as a Monday Portrait.
Eight years ago, none of us knew that five years later, our local tracks – the only ones permitted to us during our Lockdown Daily Exercise – would become almost as familiar to us as our own garden path. This is a post I wrote about a nearby walk on January 27th 2015, when I thought that I’d seen all there was to be seen locally. I was wrong as it happened, and later realised how very much more there was to discover when Lockdown provided the incentive. For Fandango’s Flashback Friday.
The days are short The sun a spark Hung thin between The dark and dark. John Updike, 'January', A Child’s Calendar
A bright winter’s afternoon. Just time, before the evening cold sets in, to get out for a couple of hours of brisk walking: 5 miles or so along familiar paths. So familiar that this time, I focus on the sky: changeable, unpredictable.
Sometimes it’s moody, sometimes cheerful, sometimes simply rather grey and colourless: at other times dramatic, particularly towards sunset. Come and walk with me to watch the clouds.
Yesterday was foggy. All day. Yesterday, when I took a photo – the header photo – at Fountains Abbey, it was so murky I thought it could pass for a sepia image. I’m going to chance calling it monochrome anyway. And since we could barely see ahead of us, we focussed on the ground below. And were rewarded. This is rather a fine tree trunk, I think.
And these Giant Funnel Fungi are rather fine too. Regular readers know that I am keen on foraged food, but I’m glad I didn’t bring these home. Here’s what the website Wild Food says: ‘A large chunky mushroom which can be found in fairly large numbers and is edible to most but can cause gastric upsets in some. This doesn’t really matter as the mushrooms are usually infested with maggots, even when young, making them more maggot than flesh. Not so appetising then … but look how huge they are! That’s a bit of my boot at the bottom of the frame.
This is the last day of November, a month in which Becky has been encouraging us to get out walking, whatever the weather. I’m glad I’ve joined her, and everyone who’s participated in Walking Squares. Thank you!
And I’m going to see if my header photo squeezes in as a Mid-Week Monochrome.
I nearly forgot. It’s destined for Jo’s Monday Walk as well.
For her Walking Squares challenge, Becky is encouraging us to walk whatever the weather. On Thursday, I had no choice: I was on duty at Fountains Abbey. The rain was so vertical, so clamorously unrelenting that getting out camera or phone would have been foolish. Once I’d faced the fact that that I’d drawn the shortest of short straws, I quite enjoyed the ceaseless drumming of the water, dodging the puddles as they became rivers, and watching the water birds demonstrating by their surly inactivity that even they thought it was all A Bit Much.
Unexpectedly, a quarter of an hour before it was time to go, the rain stopped. The sky lightened, the puddles offered up reflections, and – thank goodness – I turned round, in time to see this rainbow. Probably just past its best, but at least I saw it.
Here are the final minutes of my afternoon.
For Becky’s #Walking Squares
and Debbie’s Six Word Saturday
Look out of the window any day this week, but particularly yesterday, and you’d have seen a scene in glorious monochrome. Leaden skies, rain tumbling from the skies, hour after hour. As the header picture shows. Monday hadn’t been as rainy. Instead we had fog. Monochrome fog.
Some of the pictures were taken as I spent time at Fountains Abbey out in said rain – and against expectations, enjoying every soggy moment of it.
These though are taken at various locations in North Yorkshire, and in fog rather than rain:
And here are three more, for Becky’s Walking Squares:
I couldn’t resist a few more (sodden) tree roots from Fountains, but the water shot, and the desiccated cow parsley come from walks – who knows where?
Bren’s Mid-Week Monochrome #114
Becky’s Walking Squares
Have you noticed? For all we’ve been focussed on day-to-day weather recently, it’s the temperature we’ve talked about, here in Europe at any rate (‘Phew it’s too hot!’), and the lack of rain (‘Oooh, my poor garden!). I realised, only the other day, that wind has been in short supply. No summer breezes, no brisk gusts, no sudden squalls.
Then Rebecca’s Monthly Poetry Challenge dropped into my in-box. She wants us to write about wind, employing the literary device of anaphora. No, I didn’t know what that was either. You can read about it here.
I could have snuck in and offered the rhyme that my children were brought up on.
When the wind is in the east,
’tis neither good for man nor beast;
When the wind is in the north,
the skillful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind is in the south,
it blows the bait in the fishes’ mouth;
When the wind is in the west,
then ’tis at the very best.
But that would be cheating.
So here we are …
This is wind: softly susurrating. This is wind: sweetly sighing. This is wind: breezily billowing. This also is wind: galloping gustily; roaring and raging; shrieking and storming - destructive; disastrous. Here today. Gone tomorrow. This is wind. And it turns out that wind is not after all an endangered species. Yesterday was properly windy, for the first time in weeks.
Here comes the sun. That’s the theme for the Lens-Artists Challenge, hosted this week by Amy. As I browsed through my collection of sunrises and sunsets, I decided to focus on the rich variety of colours and mood displayed at either end of the day. It’s not always easy to tell which are morning, and which evening. It’s not always easy to decide which images to choose. I’ve gone for a bargain basement pick-and-mix selection, from England, Europe and beyond. Because we all share the same sun, the same sky.
For the last month, I’ve sometimes been a bit grumpy in the evening. It’s the same every year. The longest day comes … and then goes. And inexorably, the days get shorter and I’m reminded that winter’s on its way. I enjoy the season: the gaunt skeletal outlines of trees, the chill in the air. But I really don’t like the short days and the endlessly long nights that come with winter.
So when this week’s #Tanka Tuesday issued the challenge to write a syllabic poem entitled The Longest Day, I knew exactly what to write about, and chose to use the nonet form: a nine-line poem, that goes from 9 syllables in the first line, down to one in the last line.
The Longest Day
The longest day is one month past and
each day is shorter than the last,
as now the nights grow longer
and winter edges in.
It’s dismal knowing
summer’s going.
Sunny days
almost …
gone.
For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday, and
Colleen’s Word Craft Poetry.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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