caralockhartsmith

stories and illustration

December: A Walk by the Tweed 3

Tweed3Strange how as December moves in – suddenly there is a change in the air.  I come back from my walk with frozen hands and find it difficult to get the key into the garden door, and realise my fingers are clumsy with cold.  But out walking I scarcely notice this,  being captivated by the sun setting behind the horizon as the moon shines brighter. Scintillas of moonlight rock in the water close by the bank. Geese and swans are on the move, the noise of geese is unmistakeable, but I don’t know whether the creaky noise of swans is from them calling or from their wings.  Like their ungainly legs, their call isn’t exactly Pavlovaesque (my Granny was at a performance of “The Dying Swan” in Edinburgh, and as the last flutter played itself out on stage, a woman in the front row said in a loud voice: “She’s awful like Mrs Wishart!”).  The air in the Borders is so clear, I like the winter skies with their pink clouds.  Fish are jumping, but it ain’t Summertime, that’s for sure.

December 2, 2014 Posted by | Art, Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , | 4 Comments

December: A Walk by the Tweed 2

Tweed 2

December 2, 2014 Posted by | Art, Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , | 4 Comments

December : A Walk by the Tweed 1

Tweed1

December 2, 2014 Posted by | Art, Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , | 1 Comment

   

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