After a morning shop in Tesco we took a brief forest drive.
The dryer day fanned by a gentler breeze was illuminated by, albeit short, sunny spells.
For about three months, along a stretch of Christchurch Road where it is impossible to stop the car without causing chaos, we have hoped to photograph two lengths of corrugated iron. Today Jackie parked on the drive beside a closed farm gate and I was able to look back to a
long piece wrapped round the branch of a tree like a neck scarf blown by one of our gale force winds; the other is buried in a hedge and out of sight from this viewpoint.
The rippling, reflective, and effervescent stream at Wootton Bridge now flows fast
and laps the bases of mossy-rooted trees.
Ponies, like these at Bisterne Close, have ventured out into the woodland since the recent deluge.
This evening we dined on tender roast lamb; boiled new potatoes; cheese vegetable bake; firm Brussels sprouts and carrots, and meaty gravy, with which I drank more of the Shiraz and Jackie drank Montes Reserva Chardonnay 2020.