Snowprints, quietly

Feeling like such a bad person; totally forgot to post yesterday! I have been feeling down, which I guess was in sympathy to Stu's blues, so I really wasn't concentrating on anything in particular yesterday. Lucky I have already established that a missed post does not constitute failure unless it stops me in my tracks, which it hasn't. I will just have to keep on blogging after the one year mark to make up for my misdemeanours during the course of the twelve months. To be honest, I am hoping that the year's end sees me move over to a new subject, which will be the progress of our new business... started putting finger to keyboard yesterday with our business plan, so the process is begun. Ha, there now I've said it! I first toyed with starting up on my own fifteen years ago and elements of that time are still in my mind, but now with a lot more experience behind it, so my fingers are crossed. But I run away with myself; we are still in the Bateau-Lavoir year...

Snow forced me to tr

avel to and from cashdayjob by foot today, which afforded a great opportunity for gazing at snowy trees and hills; one of my favourite occupations in the world. I even allowed myself enough time to creep into the little thickets in the Braidburn valley, especially the willows by the burn and just hover there for a while in the early morning light listening to the water and the snow falling. I tend to chuckle to myself with delight at such times so if you were passing a group of trees this morning in the blue dawn and thought you

heard an angel laughing.. nah, it was just me.

Came back the same way and was rewarded with yet more light spectaculars as the evening brought orange

clouds lit by the city and reflected snow, scudding by at lightning speed over the valley; very dramatic and purposeful.

I also met a few snow people out and about today; a relaxed guy sitting on a bench by the Braidburn this morning holding a flower, and a monkey in a trolley outside Waitrose holding a banana. Sometimes I think I am going slightly mad, but I think it is just that there are more mad and creative souls out there than I sometimes give the world credit for. Long may they weave their little magic spells.

Watched the excellent documentary on Peter Howson last night (and the night before, joy of iplayer) and am now in awe of both the man and his experience. I had no idea how good an artist he was or the struggle he goes through on a day to day basis just to make sense of it all and deal with the creativity that just exudes from him. Totally misjudged his work, I have to say, having imagined him as some hard, cocky, trendy art guy; how much differently you read the images when you know a little more of the man behind them. One thing puzzles me, but this is a religion thing and so bound to be confusing... Howson came to religion through a series of revelations as he battled addiction and now sees himself as a Protestant. How does that work? Surely God doesn't take sides when he pops up in visions and tell you which side of the sectarian divide he is appearing from? To me that's the problem with Christianity in a nutshell; it always has to have a label, an affiliation... surely that defeats the purpose?

Maybe leave that one alone.