Aira Beck

After chores in town I decided it was a good day to go to Aira Force. The water was thundering down the falls; one minute an out of control Frappuccino, the next a torrent of strong builders tea. The air was full of drifting spray swirling in the strong winds and mixing with the rain. There weren’t many folk out but those that were greeted each other with stoic salutes and hellos that were swept away on the roar of the torrents.

Once home all that ozone must have got to me. I painted the living room wall that has been desperately in need of a fresh lick of paint for years. l fixed our Nicholas Barnham print of East Hills (extra), a wedding present that had slipped in its frame before my husband died and which I haven’t had the motivation to mend before now, all these years on. It has always seemed rather symbolic. As I re-hung it the plaster had loosened and the hook and picture fell knocking his photo from the mantelpiece into the fire. Without thinking I grabbed it out before it caught light. Crazy thing to do, but phew.