Before the deluge ...

Today was the day the yellow weather warning for my part of the world became amber instead - though you will all rejoice with me in the news that when I checked on the Met Office's handy site my house currently doesn't have a risk of flooding... (it's on the side of a hill - a burn sometimes seems to run under it, but so far ...) But this morning emerged as being so pleasant for a while that I did a washing of everything reposing in the linen basket and hung it out on the line, where it all dried apart from the bamboo socks by the time I took it in as a  precaution.

We were terribly late in bed last night, and then I couldn't get to sleep until after I'd heard 3am strike, so I took my time this morning despite the washing and the need to make some bread for lunch. Apart from that I can't think that I did anything useful, but did spend an enjoyable half hour of FaceTime chat with Di, who's off for the weekend to the Scottish Recorder Orchestra; I'm glad she's not driving tomorrow.

I was determined to get out in the afternoon, spurred on by the memories section of Facebook to see the Benmore Gardens autumn colours before they were all washed away. It was wonderful, in the most silent fashion imaginable - no other people after the first five minutes (and they were leaving), no wind, no sound - not even birdsong. The mist became rain as we headed up the hill, and we came down in a very wetting fine rain which put great swathes of cloud across the hills. We didn't even see any deer or squirrels. The colours, however, were fantastic in that glowing way that a wet day brings out. The photo above was taken from the bridge, shut all through Covid lockdown and beyond) over the lake to the island, so that I was peering through one lot of trees towards another over the water of the lake. 

I'm still off the sauce, by the way - I reckon that as long as I have this horrid taste in my mouth I'm not shot of the antibiotics yet. Killing me, though ...