Mornings and evenings are chilly. Autumn is here.We need fuel for the firebox. I walked up and down the north west sloping woodland hunting for dead wood to cut and carry down. The tree tops roared quietly like distant surf at low tide, and over and far above geese honked. A luminous, numinous skyscape. Too cold now for the swallows.
I harvested from a long dead, stretched out birch storm victim. I then went home for a camera:
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