Catching the wind

Hoicking my wellies on after None, I speed-walked around the site, slowing only for mud, taking photos, puzzling over why one of the tree supports had a pink blob on it, poking a stick in the high and murky stream to see how deep it was, and wondering whether some of the vegetative debris should be cleared away at the bit where the fence crosses it and back. The southwesterlies were forming ripples on the pond, bending the wave patterns around the small island and recombining them in a nice example of interference.

And then I flew my kite, for the first time in months, perhaps in years. I met with abject failure in Broad Marston, largely because there were electricity cables running across the field behind the house, which forced me to stand towards the edge. There wasn't really enough wind anyway, and there certainly wasn't enough fetch; I was in the wind shadow from trees, and what little wind there was was too turbulent. So the last flying time I remember was at Big Sand beach near Gairloch, looking over the sea to Skye and Lewis. Today was a perfect day for it: just the right windspeed, blue sky and scudding clouds, and the sun behind me (there have been better weather forecasts). Only one unintentional crash, but that and then the final splashdown meant that it all got a bit muddy. Well, I should be used to that by now!