Days off, birdsong and books.

This morning I woke early and listened as the birds sang the sun to rise and thought again about the symphony of birdsong that always, at some time in a day, is singing the sun to rise, somewhere in the world.

 

 

Yesterday Tom rowed out of Porthgain Harbour for an evening training session while Helen and I sat on the cliff top in the late evening sun and watched. The sky was patterned by cloud and swallows and swifts, air warm, a promise of summer. Soon he will be off to the Scilly Isles for the World Gig Racing Championships.

Today more sun and blue sky and a parcel waiting on the doorstep when we returned from dog walking and listening to a sky filled with larks. On the airfield the larks are battling for territory, their war songs so beautiful. 

The parcel was my latest instalment from Mr B's ( to find out more click on the link for Mr B's at the bottom of this post) Once again beautifully wrapped.

Inside this time, three books in one, Skippy Dies by Paul Murray, published by Hamish Hamilton. Beautifully designed. So looking forward to making the time to read them. 

The days are busy, a few days off work only marred by constant headache. Back to work next week and will try and make some order and begin to move through the nursery rhyme book.

Sunday: or What to do when you realise you still have one whole spread left to paint and you need to get the art in the post by Thursday

We had to be up at 7am, at Porthclais by 7.30. I woke in the night to hear rain thundering on the roof. Heart sank. Then the alarm went and by the time I was in the car and heading off I realised that although all around clouds billowed the sun was shining on a golden morning. I begin to fear that Tom Sutton is some kind of a weather wizard.

 

 

By the time I had walked up and off to the end of the cliffs above the harbour the boat was way away, a tiny line near the distant rocks.

 

The sun painted the rocks gold. Still not happy about the rough I have for the art on the last page and also there are too many words and time is running out for making changes. Sometimes just getting away from it can make things click in to place. 

Around me ravens flew and suddenly something just came into gold light in my head. So now I have to try and see if it also fits on paper.

Back home the wind is from the east southeast. Time to paint.