Building No 20

Home again after three months in the UK, oh . . . no, two weeks, actually, funny it seemed somewhat longer. My dear Cousin, if you read this - nothing to do with your superlative hosting, I think it was just the weather. It's cold back here, but there it was the beginning of the long overdue ice age for sure.
An evil, freezing wind blew from the wastes of Siberia the whole time apart from about three hours. The trees sulked in winter mode, buds tightly packed away and the swimwear/BBQ section in Tesco's looked even more desperate than usual.

Here is a quote from the met office about the wind:

Do not prepare yourself for there is nothing you can do. It will howl at you until you say ‘no’ and ‘yes’ in the same desperate, elated breath.

Stand naked in the street and let the wind rush through you, cleansing and restoring you. Tearing you to pieces and rebuilding a magnificently honest version of you. And as it uncovers you, stripping away at your shabby, pointless and ultimately self-defeating facade, you will at last feel truly free.

Particularly those in central and northern Scotland.

I'm still reeling from the overload of colour here: different new fresh greens, not just bramble green and sodden grass green - blossom, wild flowers, velvet blue irises and screeching yellow forsythia.

Here is a most lovely shed, that I photographed during a rare and treasured sunny interval. I suppose a sub category for sheds would be good as they are so fascinating, but they are buildings . . .

It belongs to the lodge house at my mother's nursing home and was constructed around 1910. The coils of wire, the shape of the roof, the doors, the mesh soil sifters . . . ahh, such complete shed perfection.
Next time, I'll ask if I can look inside it as I know the owners are friendly. They have a superb collection of Acer trees and Maples hidden away under the towering beech and pine trees; on a previous visit, we bought a delicate red leafed Acer and planted it in the homes grounds in honour of Mum's birthday.