2^nd January 2014

The rain has temporarily stopped. From my top floor room  I can see the grey sky reflected in the huge puddle which has grown across the garage roof.

As I walk alone down the lane to the sea the evening is drawing in, but there is a bird singing  somewhere close by. Peering upwards I can just make out the muted flash of red of a robin redbreast who is keeping me company on my walk.

On my desk sits two photographs of fathers, looking out at me from the past. Tarnish has bloomed on the silver frames turning them a pale golden hue.

Downstairs I can hear the hum of the television, but up here, on the top floor, the wind is in charge, blowing gusts of rain against the windows. With each gust, the Christmas lights dance outside on their wires, their glitter tawdry against the might of the elements.

( I am struggling with the small stones, not sure I have got the hang of them yet)