thursday

repeated last Sunday's walk with two friends this morning; again we gathered around Tungsten's grave, no seeds but I 'planted' an old stump with an eye on a ribbon, a gift for him from friend A. who brought it back with her from her travels in Marocco; I like to imagine he's not alone out here but looked after and surrounded by the wild animals

how the willows grow

back home, playing with fire, a walnut dye pot left to simmer, I'm trying to get the old dyes from several pots to become a kind of walnut-concentrate, dark enough to use for printing; coffee pot on the go, my first outdoor brew of the year, coffee tastes so much better out in the open air, suppose everything does really

frog and gnome still wearing their winter moss

quote found years ago in a newspaper

it's not a pretty front garden, but we like it

yet another attempt at getting the 'fine-wavy-lines' on a different cloth, so far I have been unsuccessful, just gotta keep on going