Dying grasses. dying year.

The day began with frost, and windscreens to attend to.

The List, made late last night, looked almost do-able, and achievement was encouraging by lunch. The housework had some attention, and paperwork became a possibility. From the conservatory, the afternoon rays permeated the forlorn beds in the garden. Bathed in low sun all day, the resultant colours attracted me, so out came the camera even though there was still work to be done.

Sheep in the field, with golden fleeces, were possible contenders, but they were playing hide and seek. Views of the pond are two-a-penny, even with a shimering covering, and the tumbling long -tailed tits had left the shady nuts for a warmer roost.

So these once-elegant plumes, caught in a rare light, became the focus of my attention, at least until a chilly night decended.