Willow in the Weir

I was captivated by this scene at Sileby Mill. The shape of the branches and twigs and the few leaves left against the texture of the water. The willow had been brought down by the river and was lodged at the top of the weir.

Basil and I had gone out in the fog hoping for misty river shots. I was mistaken in believing Stanford on Soar might be a good location. The farmers there have left the footpath in place but the going is rough and it's bordered by electric fences. Not the sort of thing for Basil to come up against. And the path didn't seem to lead anywhere. Certainly not the river. 

Old farm properties have been 'redeveloped' and new ones built 'in character.' It's my betting that they're all second homes for wealthy Londoners who can kid themselves that they're deep in the country when they take East Midlands Trains to Loughborough at the weekend. We did see a mare with a fly shield on her head. Rather like the midge nets you can buy in Scotland.

So we drove down the road to Sileby Mill, which does afford access to the river and canal bank with footpaths extending across the flood meadows.

Still feeling the effects of the sleepless night and dozed before Len and I went off for a swimming session at Hind Leys later in the afternoon. Only five Over 50s in the pool. I discovered that my knees seem to be seizing up and that my hands can't grip the handrail of the ladder so well to get into the pool. Insidious arthritis. But I managed several lengths of front crawl.

The fog cleared about half past twelve and it was instantly hot. Cloud began to veil the sky from mid afternoon. It continued sultry. We may, or may not, have a storm.