Early this afternoon we received a further oil-fired radiator from Amazon. This had kept us in until 4 p.m. when we ventured out into another cold-blue-sky day in search of a forest sunset.
We drove up Holmsley Passage turning right into Clay Hill at the top.
There the golden disc flirted with trees and clouds,
burnishing the trees above their reflections in the pool home to mallards,
past which a solitary grey pony emerged from the dingy dusk.
Along Bisterne Close the fiery sun slowly slipped into indigo clouds above icy, reflecting, recently filled concavities.
Further verges along the close contained some of the many lingering ice patterns in the woods and moorland, featuring leaves above and below them.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken stewp with fresh crusty bread. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.