Sunday morning cloud shadows from the road less travelled between my valley and next.
Sunday sunrise looking across the Vale of Mowbray from Richmond toward the Hambledon and Cleveland Hills.
I may have mentioned before that life at this time of year can be very grey, almost bereft of colour in fact. The sun often rises and sets behind the anonymity of the cloud and gloom and when there is some ceremony to the occasion because the first happens between eight and nine and second between three and four I am, like most people, generally not free to take the time out to watch the whole event so please forgive me if, when the opportunity does arise, I get get a little carried away. I hope everyone has had as good a Christmas as work, weather and all the other stuff that intervenes in life could permit and I wish you all the very best for the new year.
Arriving in town it was raining, the rush hour traffic was deafening, there were road works everywhere and heavily armed police mixed with the rushing commuters on the station concourse. One thing the French do a bit differently, even maybe better than us though, along with knowing how to run a railway and finding creative things to do with garden invertebrates, and something which makes Paris more than just Leeds with croissants is that they still have a proper Sunday. The twelve million inhabitants of the metropolitan area may outnumber the population of several EU member states and certainly that of the top half of the British isles between my house and the Pentland Firth but apart from those folks jogging around the Jardin du Luxembourg or whizzing silently on bikes along the city’s wide empty boulevards early on the seventh day the place is pretty much deserted. To wander around the thinly peopled fells of my neighbourhood on the day of rest is a beautiful thing but to have one of Europe’s largest cities to yourself is quite special and for that, when it comes to all that other stuff that the place throws at you for the other six days, well, all is forgiven.
It’s good to go fast and feel the wind in your hair but sometimes you don’t even need to be moving at all; just sit on your bike on a windy day and watch the cloud shadows crossing the fells; the perfect antidote to watching all those serious looking folks rushing around Glasgow on their bikes in the rain today, well, the perfect antidote to lots of things really.