In the sunrise, on a frosty february morning, even the dreadful suburbs, scattered along the freeway with their highrise buildings from the 1960s, acquire a certain romantic shimmer.
We woke up early today. Went to catch a bus. The sun was rising. Lovely colours, lovely light (I wish I hadn’t been on the bus — I decided I should take very early morning walks more often! I really should).
By noon, I began to sense an oncoming headache and mr Dog was exhausted and cold. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea as it first seemed that the last boat home left already at 3, before it had got dark.
The island was its usual self. Ideally, one would spend the autumn, winter and spring in the archipelago — those are far the best seasons. For some peculiar reason, which I cannot fathom, most people have decided that summer is it. It’s not.
There was snow still, on most of the island, and it was cold. But on the southern slopes and rocks, where our house is, not much snow remained. And the sun was warm, and you could feel spring was preparing its arrival. (Photos from the island.)