Yesterday was coated in water. Cycled through a soup of fine particles that clung and collected to every surface along silent lanes lined by dripping things and fields of damp sheep. #photography #jrb #quietplaces

Stop and peer over a moss-clad stone wall into a wood that’s roughly fifty square metres, if that. It sits on a boundary between farms at a junction between villages on my weekend cycle route. I look through the layers of branches that collect the mist of a still and dank November day. Quiet enough to hear the drips from branch tips land on the grass and slight rustles of inhabitants. Shallow breaths for a while to enjoy the peace, then push on along the lane. #quietplaces #photography #jrb

I often fear for velux windows, questioning whether they’ll really hold up to a decent ice peppering, especially ageing ones. Today I finally had look it up having been genuinely alarmed by this cloud’s payload as it passed my little part of England. This is its rear end heading off. #cloudfolk #photography #jrb

04:01. Blimey, a particularly turbulent dream. Unease and confusion (& slight anger, actually) at how these things from dusty corners of my life are revisited, and woven together with current events in some graphic maelstrom while the body is motionless. Conversely, it puts me in mind of the turbulence photographed earlier this year on the surface of the River Leven after heavy rainfall; although the surface was anything but asleep, the riverbed would’ve drifted calmly along. #photography #jrb

There are paths to take among the leaves when time allows, but for now, it’s tea and screens and letters on buttons. #quietplaces #jrb #photography

There are paths to take among the leaves when time allows, but for now, it’s tea and screens and letters on buttons. #quietplaces #jrb