Post-storm cycle Nov 15th

For two days, the view from the studio has been a little stormy. Rain lashed the windows and tiles trembled on the roof. This morning all was calm and clean, like a child who has screamed itself out and decided to be 'good again'.

I got up straight away, without even stopping for tea and took Hercules out for a quick spin, before most other people were stirring; even in the countryside the weekends are not the best time for a solitude-loving person to be out in. The river at the bottom of the hill has filled nicely; for months the water level has been sinking, and it is good to see it swelling fatly.

The sky was an aching blue, the brightest thing now that autumn's colours are fading to winter drabs.

There is a tiny village I go through often and this house, though not the quaintest, usually has cars parked outside it, so I snapped it for the record. It has a nice, neat doll's house feel, even if it is a little characterless.

I stopped on the hill to upright a wooden bench which had been buffeted over in the gales. Further on, there is a large wilding apple tree which still hangs on to it's fruit, golden baubles cheering up the hedgerow.

I stopped at the old mill, now converted to a house. The river was churning ferociously, thick with mud and silt. The power and roaring made me keep my distance; the bridge is quite low and one would not stand a chance of survival on falling in.

Sometimes I miss the sea.