Stark

Out on the road early  after the rain, clouds pushing up the valleys at different levels, the cypress trees around the graveyards stark as dread letters on the page.

Fitful rain as I sorted out a few things, got better acquainted with the big log burner and pulled old reinforcing steel mesh out of the long abandoned terraces (they use the reinforcing mesh - for concrete casting - as the bottom layer of fencing now - buried in a little ditch - to try and stop the depredations of the wild boar.

More lopping away at the the thick tangle, putting stone back on hooved-down terraces, acorns dropping and a green wood pecker raucous in the trees.

The days are passing quickly as the nights draw in. Strange to not have Guy Fawkes to think about this year.

I'm reading a recent and very good biography of Clem Attlee - the most radical prime minister the Labour party ever had. It's a very moving story and the pace has suddenly picked up as the IIWW begins. Late into the night I read.