I always find the end of November a strange time, a kind of lull, a standing still almost between the crisp, golden days of autumn and the onset of winter . The temperature drops, the first frosts arrive, the last of the leaves cling on before trees are finally stripped bare.
Grey is the colour of the day as Sunday morning fog lingers into the afternoon
creating a wonderful, diffused light as the sun shimmers from behind the foggy haze.
Sky, sea and shore seem to merge together, adding a grey and melancholy note to the day. Bleak but still rather beautiful. A time to reflect, perhaps, as the end of year approaches.
Typewriter Girl 