Sheep meadow

Our evening with friends resulted in a late night and sleeping in. The noisy phone requested forgotten glasses and then the day unfurled slowly, presenting many lazy opportunities.

The tree fitted the pot perfectly (by me) and was expertly festooned (by B) in the conservatory, in preparation for the festive season. It always looks best from the top of the field, the lights seemingly beckoning passing travellers from the gloom.

Despite mud and grey clouds, with a high ISO, I accepted the challenge and set forth to blow away the cobwebs and take the first long distance inspection of the season.

Underestimating the tenacity of the Herefordshire mud, despite many years of experiencing its inimitable qualities, a short cut was called for across rather than round the sheep meadow. Over the top, one of my favourite vistas opened up as the light failed and the drizzle started. A garden fire lingered beyond dusk and outlined the dwellings in the village.

The lights drew me home as icy water penetrated my boots from the melting hoof prints.

Another night by the log-fire!