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Today I was mostly engaged in boring administration; correspondence in writing and in e-mail; filing; form-filling; and posting.
Rapid rooftop rattling hailed a brief interlude with my camera, as ricocheting crystals created springboards of chairs, tables, paving, and anything else less receptive than soggy soil.
Early this afternoon we drove out to the Turfcutter’s Arms at East Boldre for a pre-dinner drink. In this we were to be disappointed, but every cloud has a silver lining.
Beginning with the building near the corner of Hordle Lane, we engaged in an exploration of September skies. The blue, white, and indigo palette was to change over the next hour.
The skyscape over Lymington River introduced an ochre tinge,
retained at Tanner’s Lane where the Isle of Wight stood out in clear relief,
as did ferries en route to Lymington.
Looking east, Southampton, with its Spinnaker tower was beautifully lit.
Indigo was the dominant hue to the west;
in between the shoreline led through the Solent to the Isle of Wight.
On across the moors towards East Boldre the hues continued to shift with the swirling clouds.
We soon reach our goal.
We had forgotten it was Saturday. When you are retired there is no such thing as a weekend. It was initially clear that the pub was extremely popular, packed out, and with no available seating. Almost immediately, nothing was clear except the glowing pumpkin head in the fireplace. The electricity was down. Although it soon rose again, we decided to call it a day and return home.
It was not yet sunset when we approached Hatchet Pond,
where a pair of, as far as I could make out. coots paddled across the reflected skies.
Sunset was not far off.
This evening we dined on succulent chicken Kiev, Jackie’s moist ratatouille, crisp roast potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, and green beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Madiran.