I'm fannying around with a nimby-pimby autumnmisty landscape, in which depth of field, scale and colour are apparently beyond me and I'm getting rapidly more teethgrindingly angry with myself but I will persevere even if it ends up an inch thick. Which would be nice, actually.
So in pursuit of a bit of light and dark, a bit of letting go, a bit of bloody passion in the thing, this morning I broke out the charcoal and the A2 paper and drew a lime tree I took a photograph of yesterday when we were out for a dander by the Whiteadder. I'm coming more and more to like the Whiteadder as a river, it's appealingly small scale and full of lots of many lovely aspects. Anyway: it might be a lime, it might be an elm, but either way it's a tree.