These are my wonderful sibs. We're in the Yorkshire Moors near my dad and step mum's house. In a little while, the sun will set and light the heather in a blaze of gorgeousness while we ramble and joke and play in our special sibling way. For now, we're posing, which we don't all do naturally, but which we most definately tolerate once in a while for such a nice keepsake.
Note: isn't sib such a lovely word? It seems quite cuddly, like cub; quite playful, not formal. I like it.

It seems to me that this is the way to travel. There's definately something to be said for being upside down for a start, and the particular angle achieved by the head just here means the sight of people-filled, upwards-bound lifts is cut out, leaving only the downhill procession of empty carts. Empty carts making a steady, purposeful march amid the forest and sky really freaked me out actually. They seemed to fit in with their surroundings much better than anyone else.

Dennis Creffield

understands Orford Ness.

John Wonnacott

just hasn't quite grasped it.

Shower:
private stream;
nature in a small tiled room, purified glow from white reflecting walls, imagined extended scope from resonant echo;
ultimately dissatisfying.

Leon's laptop in Heidelberg:
vacillating but stationary!