acoustic guitars in made up tunings. the quiet between quiets. overthinking/underthinking. tape hiss/memory's static.
Yesterday I took a slow stroll with some friends and our children to the top of Beacon Hill in North Leicestershire. Sheltered by some rocks for tea and biscuits then went to look out over Leicestershire from the trig point. The wind was incredible – I put my hood up to cover my ears somewhat but still the roar was there and constantly pushing, touching everything. It felt fantastic.
Grey autumnal Sunday. Warm but no chance of the sun ever breaking through the grey.
Walking towards Arnesby.
Light breeze ruffles the hedgerows but everything is quiet.
One of those days that no matter what camera you use (and these are with a particularly crappy phone cam) the light would not show you the colours. But their subtlety in this light, is their beauty to this eye.
Nearly back home. A glimpse through a window to a window somewhere else.
peter wyeth 