A journal of my sailing, my dogs, my band. I can promise photos, but not consistency; as far as subject matter goes I'm a bit of a nomad, so can at times drift about the place with seeming abandon.
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Wednesday 10 December 2014
The bones
The flame is now stripped from the sides of the valley, all that remains is bone of bared trees; the squabbling of jackdaw, the kiss of a dying year's distant sun; Winter is come.
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