Chiaroscuro in the Chilterns

Frankly I'm amazed I've managed to get on line to post this tonight. But I did.

I took The Principal to Heathrow to jet off to New York for her birthday bash. The M25 clockwise was well behaved and we were in more than plenty of time. Things by now had settled after some dicey moments with the boiler pressure gauge on leaving the old homestead. (Make of that what you will.)

I stopped at the Beaconsfield Services on the M40 west. Police and paramedics surrounded a Dutch lorry and one chap was stuffing sleeping rolls into a big bag. 

At Stokechurch on a whim I turned of the motorway and in moments was squeezing down a steep single track road past Ibstone. I stopped at  the church, an old Norman low construction with a bell turret as an afterthought. Another St Nicholas church like the one from last Saturday at Ringwould. 

Wild anemones were in bloom in the graveyard and beech forest backed onto it. A lonely spot now far from the village. The natural light, so gentle and diffuse in these old buildings at this time of year was superb.  

I wandered around in the beech wood hanging on the steep valley side and picked up some flints that looked worked by a human hand. And proceeded to Oxford to my mum and sister. 

The Principal landed safely. I made a chicken casserole. A kind neighbour checked on the boiler overflow. All is well for now. 

I feel I should be writing a blog (my last but one had 1400 hits). Maybe tomorrow after taking Mum to the dentist and her other appointments. 

Now I've got the hang of this machine.