Night, light and twilight walking.

Yesterday I walked in twilight for the first time in a while and watched as the world dropped into monochrome. Moths, pale and fragile as ash moved in the lane that still held warm air from the day.

Tonight I walked in the dark. In the east the sweep of light from the lighthouse illuminated low cloud in a pulsing rhythm. To the west all starlight was eaten by the ink dark cloud. From each a bridge of glorious lights, too deep to imagine, arched. In this time of the dark moon even the gingercat looks black as he walks beside me.

Hare and the moon.

A day of reading, walking, small painting, thinking. In the daytime sky a swelling moon. In the mind a dancing hare kicks at the drum of the full moon.

Loving the luxury of losing myself in a world of words. Our Tragic Universe by Scarlett Thomas could have been written for me and there is something very special about having an intimate conection with teh geographical landscape of the novel. It is set around Dartmouth and Torcross, a place where I thought I would live at one time in my life, and a place that I love. A couple of years ago I revisited old haunts and it was every bit as wonderful as I remembered.

The small painting of the hare is for sale, unframed via The House of Golden Dreams.