stories and illustration

Rough Water by the Weir

Rough Water

This morning dawned sunlit, followed by high winds which lashed rain against the window; then this afternoon the sun came out again.  I walked on the big open fields of the Lees, coming up on to the muddy path  beside the Tweed where the wind banged against me so icy it hurt.  My possum hat flew off – my possum hat never blows off – it was a raw old day.  I met a family group coming towards me past The Fishing Hut who asked me if it was windy thataway.  Why yes, it is windy, windy and freezing.  Right, they said, we’ll go this way instead.  So I turned away from the river and followed them back to Coldstream, but not before I took some photographs. It was getting dark, but the light from off the river was enough to get  picture of the mercurial waters of the weir as the sun set over the horizon.  The roads were being salted, so frost is on its way. All the way round the Lees are small tracks, from miniature motorbikes that have been given to two young boys for Christmas.  I don’t know how they managed yesterday when the winds were so strong they almost knocked me over.  I met them as they stopped their machines and waited for me to pass.  You got those for Christmas? I asked.  Yes, they said.  Fantastic.  What joy they must have been having, and I don’t suppose they have been making the mud much worse.  Anyway,  tomorrow the ruts will be hard and crisped with ice.

January 2, 2015 - Posted by | Painting, Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , ,

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