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rhythmaningWhen I can, I walk to part of the way to work: a couple of miles besides the river that runs through Edinburgh, the Water of Leith, before I pick up bus to take me the next few miles.
The walk is largely through woodland, coming out to cross small roads and climb beside weirs and waterfalls. (Ian Rankin frequently sets parts of his Rebus novels along the Water of Leith – notably in “The Falls”.)
At this time of year, it is barely light as I walk along, the sun coming and skimming the tops of trees and buildings as I near Roseburn.
For the last week, there has been a frost on the ground, hardening the mulch that autumn has left on the path. The river steams in the morning light. Where the grass gets a glimpse of sun, there are frost-shadows, and the footprints of dog walkers are black against the crystal white.
There are few birds at the moment, the swans and dippers having flown away. (I watched a family of two swans and four cygnets depart in October, flying low of Murrayfield as they headed west.) But there are herons hunting stately and still – and a rare flash of iridescent green-blue showing a kingfisher darting above the surface of the water. (I have never seen the kingfisher stationary to recognise it; just a darting colour.)
One day last week, running late, I walked through the New Town rather than beside the river. The rising sun turned the Edinburgh sandstone to honey, the rough surface picking up the shadows.
(Once I have worked out quite how to do it, I shall add some illustrations...)
The walk is largely through woodland, coming out to cross small roads and climb beside weirs and waterfalls. (Ian Rankin frequently sets parts of his Rebus novels along the Water of Leith – notably in “The Falls”.)
At this time of year, it is barely light as I walk along, the sun coming and skimming the tops of trees and buildings as I near Roseburn.
For the last week, there has been a frost on the ground, hardening the mulch that autumn has left on the path. The river steams in the morning light. Where the grass gets a glimpse of sun, there are frost-shadows, and the footprints of dog walkers are black against the crystal white.
There are few birds at the moment, the swans and dippers having flown away. (I watched a family of two swans and four cygnets depart in October, flying low of Murrayfield as they headed west.) But there are herons hunting stately and still – and a rare flash of iridescent green-blue showing a kingfisher darting above the surface of the water. (I have never seen the kingfisher stationary to recognise it; just a darting colour.)
One day last week, running late, I walked through the New Town rather than beside the river. The rising sun turned the Edinburgh sandstone to honey, the rough surface picking up the shadows.
(Once I have worked out quite how to do it, I shall add some illustrations...)
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no subject
Date: 2005-11-22 09:37 am (UTC)However, I think you mean stationery. And I also wondered whether the interest you list as 'taling' is actually 'talking'?