Quicunque

Today I drank the last of the Secretos del la Alhambra tea I bought in Granada, from the tea and spice stall in the shadow of the Cathedral of the Incarnation. Even though more than several years old, it kept its flavour of rose petals and oranges and spiced sunshine right to the last golden drop. If I close my eyes it's a perfect antidote to England's chill and damp fog.

Moss grows so thick on the bare trees that brushing against it is like stroking a cat's back, sparkling with diamond chips of water held within its luxuriant pelt. A swathe of colour in a dull grey world.

Photo copyright myself 2012

Rust-red fox in the back yard this morning, a bright shock of colour in the mist. Laughed boldly at me and leapt over the wall, sending me off to my day's work with a complicit smile.

Mr Fox made by the wonderful ceramic artist Anna-Mercedes Wear.

There was barely daylight today. A smudged greyscale world blurred by a small rain, without contrasts or edges. It gives me the same sense of formless melancholy as listening to Nico singing All Tomorrow's Parties

The river was running high and fast today, rough eddies where there used to be calm shallows, dark as ink with secretive deep currents. The trees along the bank wade up to their knees.