Acer leaves

Much debate tonight with Mrs D about processing. Usually she hates it when I tweak a picture but she liked the softening of the leaves in this and so did I. It was a miserable day and there was only one thing more miserable - me. Quite why, I don't know, unless it's something to do with the time it's taking to shake off this irritating condition.

I wanted to find some beauty and thought the best bet was Wisley again. The weather forecast was for the sun to come out in the afternoon. It didn't but rained instead. I had one or two options but we settled for the leaves because they're lovely. One or two other options here.

Some thoughts on blipping in a blog today. Did you hear the Radio Four PM programme item on photographing children tonight? They're starting to demonise photographers. It's a worry.

Another poem from the week, This one is called:

Motherhood

Motherhood, the stuff of saints and milking girls,
Prized to the point of desperation,
For some deprived, not whole, they say,
Denied the chance of childbirth, passing on
The love and kindness, that's our gift.
That first smile, determined wobbly steps,
Then school and tears, hard nights and grief,
The teenage years of angst and mild regrets,
And marriage, not these days, for heaven's sake,
Our caring now cared less,
The undeserving shits we think, in guilt,
For saying is believing and we don't
Regret a minute or one passing hour,
Not true, we do, a little when we see
The other me, that woman on TV
Oh how she's blessed, and not like me,
Her perfect cuticles, sink free, it can't be me
It can't be me, it can't be me I sob,
A grey-haired gran called nan, gripped
By the smallest hand, leading to follow,
Wandering now in sifted glowing memories,
Meandering to a golden final breath.