In The Bright Morning Light

This morning was another bright and sunny one, without the wind chill factor. Consequently we took an early drive around the forest.

From South Sway Lane we enjoyed landscape views of Sway Tower. Note the field horses in these images are wearing rugs to protect them from the colder temperatures.

Flexford Lane offers sightings of the iconic tower not so available when the deciduous trees are in leaf.

Some sheep basked in the sunshine in their field off Lower Mead End Road. Others sheltered, chomping, behind a shed around which rays curled picking out their detail.

The varied caravan site further down that lane made good use of the early light.

The pile of logs at Boundway continues to grow fungus. I am not sure what the red marking signifies – something to do with inventory it seems. One child limped home from the pile missing a shoe.

The predecessors of this young man digging a ditch near Wootton would have envied his modern machinery.

This evening we dined on an extra spicy version of Jackie’s perfect pasta arrabbiata with tender green beans, followed by a well baked Belgian bun.


      1. Thank you for the link Derrick. Aren’t they amazing abodes! I just spent my blog reading time admiring the many and varied types available……… I just need a horse now…..

    1. Thanks very much, Luanne. A sweet yeast-based pastry/bread containing sultanas and topped off with water icing and a glacΓ© cherry. A bit like a cinnamon swirl. Well baked was just my way of saying it was good – no doubt a little ambiguous

      1. I’m laughing because then I had to look up sultanas. I learn so much from reading your blog, Derrick! Oh, that does sound like a yummy treat if it weren’t for the sultanas (I don’t like raisins in my yummies, thanks to Grandpa because he used to tell me they were something else). I see that raisins and sultanas are made from the same grape, but are then made in a different manner.

  1. I spent some happy times digging ditches with a spade when I was young although I had the benefit of knowing that I wasn’t going to be doing it for too long. One of my fellow workers pulled up with a sharp cry and I thought that he had injured himself. In response to my concerned enquiry, he replied, “I’ve just realised that I might be doing this for the rest of my life,” and went back to digging. The gang was disbanded not long after I left and was replaced by a mechanical digger.

  2. Bright blue sunny morns are so wonderful! πŸ™‚
    A couple of those sweet sheep look like they had something to say to you!
    Aw on the lost little shoe. πŸ™ I hope the little one didn’t get into trouble coming home with just one shoe. πŸ™
    Yes, I can remember when my dad would be digging holes for posts, trees, gardening, etc…he’d say, “Digging holes is nothing but hard work.” Ha! πŸ™‚ All he had was a shovel. πŸ™‚
    HUGS!!! πŸ™‚
    PS…Does “well-baked” mean good or a bit burned or what?! Just curious!

      1. No, you wrote that long before I started following your blog. Thanks for the link. Holy cats! Someone lives there? Do you think they have an elevator. Only four floors, but still.

          1. Oh, my gosh! Not in our price range, that’s for sure, and I know my creaky knees couldn’t handle all those stairs. But what a place!

  3. You seem to have put the deep vision of your photographic lenses to great use. Is it the Sigma you had picked up after its predecessor had got stuck? Your thoughts have meandered like the poet at heart you are.

  4. It looks like you had a bright, sunny day, and I’m glad you’re able to go out and enjoy it. That shot of the shoe is poignant. It makes me think of some Holocaust memorials. I agree with you about men digging ditches in previous times would have envied the machinery.

  5. I’m waiting desperately for the day when Jackie doesn’t serve up a perfect dish and you have to settle for a bread and jam sandwich, sans butter! πŸ‘Ώ

      1. My pleasure, Derrick, and I am planning to show your photos to my Gypsy friend and ask her whether she has ever seen these in real life. She is not a “tabor” (nomad) Gypsy; her parents had settled in Moscow, where she grew up. Her late husband was from a well known “tabor” family, though, so she might have seen it.

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