If winter comes ...

I was all set to blip a photo of this morning's sunrise on the hills to the north of Dunoon, lit with gold before the sun had reached us, but decided that such romantic beauty had been showcased here too often and that it was time for a spot of realism. 

It was actually dry until after dark today; I managed to hang out a washing that will save us from running out of underwear and Mr PB got to the tip with six bags of rubbish from the loft without coming back half drowned. However, the morning sun lasted only till about 2pm and the northern boundary of the town as I drove towards Glen Massan to meet my pal for a walk. I took the odd pleasing photo of still-russet leaves forming a tunnel over the road, but that's back to the chasing lovely autumn scenes and I'm heading elsewhere ...

So the photo tonight shows a field belonging to the farm at the head of the road up the gorge, at the sea end of the hanging valley that is Upper Glen Massan. I have seen Highland cattle in that field before, and anxious sheep with their neat feet squelching slightly in the mud. I've also seen it dry, but it certainly wasn't dry today. I actually love the bright green of the pond weed or whatever it is growing so lush in the squishiest bit of mud in front of me, but it's not exactly a promising piece of land. Beyond it is the forest that has echoed all year to the sound of machinery as the trees were harvested; on the extreme right you can see where there are still clumps of tree trunks lying waiting to be removed, and a white tripod-like piece of equipment. There was also a red crane, but so dirty that it merged with the background so that I can't actually see it here. To the left of the photo is a young forest - no longer does one forest vanish than another is planted. 

We saw no beasts in any of the fields today; they're all indoors somewhere or other. There was a real sense of winter coming, even on this relatively mild day, and the storms return tomorrow. 

But tomorrow is shopping day with its early start and the growing dread that assails me when I contemplate it is beginning to make an impression. I've been at a Zoom Vestry meeting for the last 2 hours, during which I heard through the wall the distant sound of our neighbours cheering. Did Scotland win that football match?