Yesterday, Christmas shopping in St Davids in the tiny bookshop on The Pebbles. I came out of the shop with more books than I would ever leave a huge Waterstones with including the beautiful George Orwell which would make the most excellent Christmas present for Nick Clegg, and The White Ravens by Owen Sheers published by an independent publisher called Seren. Painted into the dark hours while the wind called around the house carrying the cries of the lapwings.
On the beach this morning:
A small scrap of a seal pup, born too late, now just a feast for crows.
Strange light reflected from heavy clouds that promise snow.
In the garden, chaffinch, sparrow, bluetit and great tit, starling and robin, jackdaw, thrush, blackbird, magpie, rook and dunnock. There have been goldcrests too and wren and goldfinch and bullfinch. But still no greenfinch.