The Shortest Day.

A great time of the year for me! Perhaps that is why I am wide awake at 5 am. Better than xmas for a kid, the shortest day of the year. Dear god! East Anglia is such a terrible place.

The view on the way home with papers, crosswords and other comforts at the years turning.

A trip to Titchwell to avoid the ‘Xmas Thang’. I am greeted by a pair of swans heading straight for me like F16s. Having checked me over they wheel away, satisfied that I am no jihadi. Following the line of telescopes I catch a Marsh Harrier, I think. Then to the beach!

Twitchers snapped!

Do you want to see my mussels?

Plodding towards the car I am struck by the skeins of geese, flights of ducks and swans looking for a night’s bed and breakfast. Clouds of smoke, long and twisting against a grey sky. When they wheel the line of sight changes, the birds disappear from view. Turning again, they reappear to take their place in the great order of things. Lagyalo!