Monday morning dawned magnificently across the Menai Straits where I woke to see the sky ablaze; magenta, amber and lapis blue, ember bright in the furnace of the rising sun.
Tuesday mornings light transcribed this magic; back home, walking the country lanes with Neil I glanced up from conversation to see it kissing the tree tops softly. The birches blushed pale mauve, colouring a perception of Spring, albeit shyly, in tight bud.
Today it's raining, the sky is like the cover of my sketch book, smudged with graphite finger marks, tattered, used. Recent weather has flourished with changeable artistic temperament, daubing brilliant blue and mercurial grey, harshly spattering hail and sleet, carelessly throwing down washes of rain across its canvas, the sky. From day to day, it's energy, seemingly all but spent, it leaves vast patches un-inspiringly empty, canvas white. From time to time it's demeanour softens altogether, relenting it apologises in rainbows and invites the sun to shine.
However miserably the weather may express itself today, I sit here gazing out from my studio having 'seen the light'. I know that the magic of a beautiful dawn, the soft light of early spring, is,in essence, inherent in this day too, however dilute and imperceptible it may be. Knowing this colours my mood.
...on a more lighthearted note, and waxing less lyrical; I always have my waxed hat and Wellies and we have some 'awesome' puddles in the field! - though their depth should not be trusted! I've jumped in one or two that I could swear I heard laugh out loud as they drenched me, breaching my wellie tops...how old am I!
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