Prynhawn Braf Iawn

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A lovely afternoon here in Fairview Heights [fans of the late, great John Peel should get the oblique reference when I use the term], with a temperate - ahem - temperature and some decent sunshine and blue sky. The male blackbird that sits atop the tallest tree we have - a good forty or fifty-footer - has sung at the top of his voice for most of the day: glorious, and all of it as a piece leaving one with an absolute glow of positivity for the coming season. Pictured, me going sub-optimal Walker Evans in monochrome: the studio door etc., in the slanting light of the late afternoon sun.

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