Spate

The river at Crammond, full of brown water rushing and gushing towards the Firth of Forth. This morning feels like winter. It's cold, and the low sun shines through a watery sky that saps all warmth from the rays before they fall on me.

The shapes and sounds of nature are sliced in two by a man-made wall and guard rail, although with my eye on the viewfinder perhaps I should be glad of its presence, preventing me from stumbling into the water. The park bench is not inviting - it is cold and wet - but somehow its shape is more organic, and it doesn't jar like the straight line of the railing.

Another day, another blip. I'm not feeling very creative just now, but I have a landmark approaching and I want to be able to celebrate in style. I must get my thinking cap on...

P.S. I posted a very late blip last night if you're interested.