A dank morning, cool and wet and misty and dripping. The Kinsham side of the valley is lost in mist. Good walking weather; I love walking in glooms and mists.
A huge swathe of the trees above this side of the valley has suddenly turned a peach-golden. Not deciduous trees but conifers, so I am assuming they are larches as they are (to the best of my knowledge) the only British conifer that is deciduous. A tight, neat patch of colour among the deep greens of the firs and the uncertain mottling of the trees on the wood's border.
November 4th - the Americans elect a new president today - a black president would send an astonishing message to the world and would be a huge step forward for the US; I would vote for Obama.
Tomorrow is November 5th - we won't be buying fireworks for many reasons but the blunt John Bull celebration of light and darkness - even if the origins are forgotten or at least no longer mean anything - is fascinating. The English see no poetry in what they do and look abroad for simple beauty; but they do small beauty nonetheless.
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