Cloud Machines

What a cracking morning.

Popped up to the school to get the fallen leaves from the playground and take them to the allotment.

Listened to a program on Mr McCaig which made could company as I travelled through the sleepy city.

The river was mapped by clinging white fog,
Silence and stillness of the plots hid the life
Ice coated barrow handles melted on touch
Dripping and cooling the working hand
My cargo of death would feed the dark soil.

Back home to get the roof checked out, nice guys and much cheaper quote than others.

it is Movember so I cut the grass.

Took Juno for a walk and found new sources of sloes and will post some letters asking to use the apples in people's gardens that are going to waste.

The distant western industrialisation was making clouds and the darkening skies bringing unforecast damp.

Quiet night in trying to get dry and stay warm.