Tag Archives: winter

Missing the dark

Memory of the Solstice fades. The comfort of those longed-for days of lessening light, increasing night. I love that time of year – but then, I’m one of the lucky ones. With a home, heating, and warm clothes. A plentiful … Continue reading

Posted in Art, jaunts & going out, Britain now & then, Cumbria, Lancashire & the golf coast, Uncategorized, Yorkshire | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Falling

First came hail. Then stinging sleet, whipping my cheeks like an angry weather monster. Later, lonely white flakes fell – dawdling down in isolation. Mere afterthoughts. Certainly not a snowfall. The clouds passed, their smoke-grey curtain drawn back, revealing a … Continue reading

Posted in Art, jaunts & going out, Britain now & then, Lancashire & the golf coast, Nature notes | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

A Tale of Old Mistress Winter, Part III

MANY thanks to those of you who read and made such kind comments on my 2016 Christmas story, A Tale of Old Mistress Winter. I do indeed, as some of you suggested in comments or to me in person, hope … Continue reading

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A Tale of Old Mistress Winter

MANY thanks to those of you who read and made such kind comments on my 3-part 2016 Christmas story, A Tale of Old Mistress Winter. I do indeed, as some of you suggested, hope to publish it ‘properly’ in some … Continue reading

Posted in Fiction, probably | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Autumn. A little too close for comfort, this time

It’s been the most beautiful autumn I can remember. The stillness of each reluctant dawn. The drama of the sunrise, turning the world from grey to lemon, gold to rose. The vast, v-shaped skeins of pink-footed geese heading for the … Continue reading

Posted in Art, jaunts & going out, Lancashire & the golf coast, Thinking, or ranting, or both | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Oh dear. I can’t be bothered

You’d never think it was winter. Windy, yes, but not exactly freezing.  And so many golfers out today. Wearing black. Littering the landscape like crows on a field. And here, inside our tree-house, our weekend-golfer-viewing gallery, it’s cosy, warm and … Continue reading

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Meet Gerry Carroll – son, brother, friend, sometime sleuth (and Catholic priest)

It felt like bleak midwinter, the earth standing hard as iron, even if no frosty wind made moan. For Gerry, it couldn’t have been a bleaker day.  Was it midwinter? He didn’t really care if it was or it wasn’t. … Continue reading

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