Open door

By three o'clock the downpours and hailstones had melted away and the wet and dull day was suddenly bright and sunny. I walked briskly round the village, trying to catch some light before it faded, and chased some gloriously pink clouds but struggled to find a location from which I could frame them. The open door of the Abbot's Fireside was invitingly lamplit, with groups mingling inside, and as I crept closer I had a clear view into the ornate mirror framing a reflection of the heavy oak door. At the far end of the High Street, I looked back at the war memorial and the junction with the Old Road, and decided the light and clouds made it worth framing the ubiquitous parked cars; and as I walked back along the road out of the village, heading for home, I found the light behind the trees reflected in the puddles along the gutter, accentuating the curve of the road. I couldn't decide, so these are almost the last of my year's extras.