January in the Clavering Hundred

In the very west of Essex, on the arable fields above the small village of Manuden with its distinctive church spire that appears half buried in the hills, the dawn is quiet, clouded and cold; new red-roofed houses huddle together in the valley. Undaunted, a song thrush sings its distinctive double tap from the edge…

Blackwater dawn

The dawn appears slowly in the still air turning the horizon from deepest blue to dirty magenta, then split by a thin slice of electric orange. The black saltmarsh emerges olive green; the water in the narrow channels and open estuary is lit like smoked glass, catching every reflection.  The sun rises and briefly turns…

Lake Skadar’s Dragons

The week has been grey and rain-filled with sullen views and damp seeping the bones. This morning was brighter and the view from the square window confirmed that although a deep grey, the light was trying hard to win, so I hurled out and up the hill in a strong, but not cold, easterly to see…