Sunset Puddles

With wind gusts forecast at 50 the Forest was closed to visitors. This meant the jolly family Welly Walk I was supposed to be leading, with song, tinsel and Santa hats for the Gruffalo and friends was cancelled, as were all Christmas tree sales. Bah Humbug!

 Waiting for Storm Darragh to live up to its potential seemed a good day to clean the sitting room and set up my Sitka tree top. Not generally being fond of housework it is always interesting what you can find at the back of the sofa and behind the bookcases - mostly dead - dead flies, dead geranium leaves, dead spiders, dead last year's christmas tree needles. (Oh dear, over a year ago since I last deep cleaned!) And the clutter! Definitely expanding to fit the space available. Not all mine, as the lodger is moving house and has his weights, mats and shoes  hidden under the coffee table. 

Rather surprisingly, the tree was the right height, only just scraping the ceiling. It fought against being tethered to the curtain rail, but is now safe from toppling. I will give my stabbed fingers a rest and decorate it tomorrow.

By sunset I was well and truly not interested in housework any more and so went for a brisk gusty walk down to the Derwent and back. Puddles glowing like ore hot running from a smelter, yet the river blue grey as cooled metal.