Moss

At this time of year, when the sun is so low, my house and garden get very little sunshine. This is due to tall trees I have no control over, and my hedge that protects me from the rugged nor’westers. As a result I have to make do with occasional patches of sunlight, or tiny fingers that sneak in through gaps. That is why many of my photos have the chiaroscuro effect.

My Dad was born 112 years ago today. It hardly seems possible. I remember his crooked smile, his silvery baritone voice, and the loving way he looked at me, and my mother and sister. And his music. I heard him whistle the Albeniz Tango so many times over much of my life that I feel that is part of my very fibre. He was completely unselfish. At one time the only money he took from his earnings was the bus fare for work. In summer he often rode his bike and spent the money on chocolate, which he shared with all of us. He told entertaining stories about the past, and was a great gardener. He took up organic gardening in the 1950s when it was regarded as cranky.