The weir

It rained quite a bit last night, and again for a while this afternoon; add that to the effects of snow melting in the hills and the weir on the River Eachaig becomes pretty spectacular. I realise that capturing a photo of something that interests me, especially in the course of a walk I've done countless times, can redeem what might count as a fairly routine day - today it was supermarket shopping and cleaning the sink, since you ask.

I hate the idea of days being just "where we live", as Philip Larkin (one of my fave poets) put it. He was answering his own question "what are days for?", but living and hardly living (is that T.S.Eliot?) seems a dreadful waste, especially when you reach the age when your friends are gone and your hair is grey ...

And that is Leonard Cohen, for sure!