This morning my bed held me captive beyond sunrise. When I went out to see what Monday smelt like I found a bright sunny day with beautiful blue sky. The air carried the smell of warmed grass which made me smile.
Alt text says this week’s photo is a person sitting at a desk with a computer. Indeed it is. And it is me.
This week I needed a new author photo to accompany a poem that is going to be published in a magazine. As someone who feels rather awkward having my photograph taken, I was quite pleased that this one came out well. It might not even have come into existence if I had remembered that my email compresses photos before sending them. Sending compressed older photos meant they were too pixelated for use and I assumed they were just like that, so sprang into action to create something with the right kind of resolution. And hey presto that was also not right by email and we were then able to work out what was happening. A good way of relearning about file size and a great way of getting a new picture!
This year’s firework display for me was two rockets. One viewed from the M25, and one viewed from the M1. It was nice to see them as I travelled back North from a visit to Kent. I took sparklers with me for Hallowe’en/Bonfire Night wishes, but somehow we forgot to light them so now they will become Christmas or New Year wishes. Luckily we remembered to enjoy sharing time and chat and café visits!
There’s something about noticing the smell of the air at night at this time of year which signals the coming of Winter. It’s not always dependent on bonfire smoke mixing with the cold crisp air although that can be part of it, it’s something that seems to happen on cold clear nights as November opens. It was lovely to notice that very smell while waving goodbye to lovely friends before travelling the 300-mile journey back home. A definite contrast to breathing this morning’s air and a rather lovely one to note.
It’s not quite November cold here yet, but this poem sets down what the month may hold in store…
NOVEMBER COLD
November cold
is bone cold,
chalked moon cold.
November cold
clouds breath,
stencils ferns on glass.
November cold is fragile echoes
of clenched words,
it is spiked metal railings silvered.
November cold is
slippery white shine
grinning under shoes.
