Sinking ...

Ducks, I think - maybe eiders, though they were silent - sit motionless in the path of the setting sun as it sinks towards Bute and, beyond it, the hills of Arran. It is already so cold that stopping for a photo takes lunatic resolve. I seem to have it in spades, to the dismay of anyone walking with me ...

A real day-before-a-concert, trying not to talk too much or too loudly (the ageing voice doesn't like it). A day when the sheets I washed and hung out were frozen stiff within 20 minutes (fool to hang them out so early) and didn't actually dry at all, but smell nice. A day when I wandered round to the health store to buy some dried fruit and have a wee chat with the owner, when I had coffee with someone I've not seen nearly enough of in recent months, a day when the lovely icon of St Andrew that I had painted for me featured on the iconographer's web site in a highly pleasing fashion. 

And then this sunset walk at Toward, to the south of us. I'm so enamoured of the series of photos I took that I'm adding one I took at Toward sailing club, just to get the outline of the quay and the trees. And when I've done that I'm going to catch up on some of the blippers I've not visited for a while because of blipping at bedtime ...