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5 Oct: Haworth, Brontë Country
19 Sept: It’s the day of The Queen’s funeral. Every town and village we drove through is silent, closed, and empty of traffic and people. We did encounter a police car with two policemen in the public carpark. They were eating their lunch. They nodded, said hello, and warned us that everything in Haworth was…
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4 Oct: Tracking dVerse Quadrille
On the Beach On that bright August day I stood before the Atlantic with its slow sloping depths and cliffs and plateaus, where deepest blues are as black as a Merlin’s trick, and as the sea delighted my toes, I watched each wave track along the sand. Artwork is mine, Midjourney rendering. ©Misky 2022 Written…
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4 Oct: Fairy Tale Whimsy
Fairy Tale Whimsy There, the ghost of trees.Cut like wheat, to fallon a knee and a prayer. Like a woman’s summer skirt. This air is wed to dialogue,a blur of colour, of copperand whispering gold. Like sewing sequins on sails. And the sky hangs dulland washed by comparison.It’s fairy tale whimsy speak. Digital artwork created…
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3 Oct: The Pass to Keswick England
Driving the road from Bowness-on-Windermere to Keswick. All images taken on my iPhone.
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2 Oct: Last Photo on the Card
Christine is hosting Bushboy’s Last Photo on the Card for September. Here’s mine, taken at Tatton Park. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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2 Oct: Chester
I’ve always wanted to see Chester. It was my birthday treat: we’re going to Chester for the day, and then dinner afterwards at a steak restaurant. I rarely eat steak, except on my birthday. It was excellent. And Chester was everything I hoped it would be. A perfect birthday. Note: click the images for full-size…
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1 October: Macclesfield to Buxton
I love peace and quiet and a bit of solitude, like living inside my own head, but this is even too much for me. I could hear the sheep in mid-field chewing grass. For a moment there, I thought I had tinnitus, but no, it was just the sheep chewing away. Buxton and St Ann’s…
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30 Sept: On Dunmail Raise
On Dunmail Raise The wind on Dunmail Raise plays tricks on the ear. Can’t see him, but you can hear him. Up there on the hill, shouting at his dog. One man and his dog, and the wind carrying them both. And then you see them. White specks, a fleeting flock across the bare hill.…
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29 Sept: Garsdale & Skipton, Peak District
19 Sept: We’ve entered the Peak District. Not a soul on the road, not a truck, nor a car. It’s the morning The Queen’s funeral. ps: The man in the last photo is not my husband; he is a stranger.
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28 Sept: The Bookcase
The Bookcase When I dream, I write it down. He says he never dreams, but the bookcase says otherwise. His side, which is the right side, is filled with folded road maps. He dreams of being carefree as a river, or a thin-line horizon. His Michelin in hand. To drive across roads of Norway and…
It's Still Life 