At 06:20 this morning my world was shy and mysterious with a whisper of frost, hiding in thick fog. Twenty minutes later and just five minutes before Mme Soleil stepped through the door, the solidity of the fog had transformed into movable, delicate veils, the travellers of an early morning.
The combination of the angle of the sun, the delicate, bare trees and the partly snow-covered ground created this fascinating and mesmerising graphic pattern on the steep side of a valley in the Rauriser Tal.
It was good to see my ducks back in the garden a few days ago. They are not my ducks, of course, they are wildlife, who enjoy my garden and the pond, which is just behind them out sight in this photograph.
The beautifully lit graveyard at Rauris in the Pinzgau area of the Austrian province of Salzburg makes an unmistakeable connection between the peaceful serenity of death and the infinity of the universe.
The waxing sickle moon setting over the mountains at Rauris in the Pinzgau area of the Austrian province of Salzburg.
The Wiltshire landscape rests heavily like an old labourer’s callused hands at the end of a life’s work, as if nature had forgotten to do anything exciting with this particular plot of land. It is exactly this absence of anything noteworthy that makes it attractive.
The name of the full moon in January, Wolf Moon, is reminiscent of times long gone when you could hear the wolves howling in the crisp, frosty nights. If you open your soul and unburden your mind, you can still hear the echoes of their song.
‘The art of placement is extremely important’, I thought when I spotted this handsome resident of the village of Wörth in the Rauris Valley in Austria. Then I thought ‘no, the art of self-placement’ until I finally found enlightenment in the thought that what is actually important is the art of self.
When I emptied the birdbath in my garden of ice to fill it with fresh water the other morning after a frosty night, I noticed something protruding from the ice. Something that looked like a very small ghost skating on ice.
Earlier this week I wrote about making my own bread and a while back I commented that independent bakers are almost extinct in this country and that the chain-bakery and supermarket produced bread looks authentic but is as tasty as paper. Here are two more of my own recent creations, a pain de campagne rustique and a malted multi-grain loaf.
After years of making my own bread I have only just worked out how to make the shape of these traditional, rustic rolls. Simple but nonsensical.
How to choose a spot for a catnap and why it is important that your cat’s fur is a contrasting colour to your carpets.
I ‘found’ this gentleman in the midday heat of a Greek summer in 1984. It is not clear whether the old man is the householder or a passing vagrant. Looking at the photograph now, thirty years later, I think that this might be me in a few years’ time.