A new year, like a fresh clean page. Reflections lingering from the year just past. Nothing magical, just a measurement.

Back into walking the hood. Feels good. Especially at dusk – or if you like the more romantic term; twilight.

Puddly playing field. Sky reflected in water on earth in the shape of the South Island. After a day of rain.

Dusky bird on toetoe stalk. The smell of algae.

A piper of some description (pied oyster catcher? Stilt?)

The Bird Roost getting put to good use by gulls, shags and spoon bills – the latter of which always put me in mind of someone reading a newspaper. Something to do with the stoop of the shoulders and the close attention to what’s in front of their noses.

Then back home to the garden and old kettles.

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