First, there was the one Muscovy duck that took up residence at Hebden Bridge canal marina — this one. Then several more turned up (and had a few fights). But for a while now I have only seen one again, not the original one but this all-white one, which has made a couple of earlier blog appearances itself. The others have either died or moved on, leaving this one behind. Maybe it just likes it here. Or, maybe it is terribly lonely.
Dead flower masquerding as frail, semi-transparent moths? Or are the moths getting together for purposes of their own, and disguising their negotiations by masquerading as a flower? Either way, winter comes.
Tensions are clearly running high in the ongoing pigeon-duck war. With negotiations having broken down, the pigeon high command has sent out a brave scout to keep an eye on the mallards. But what it hasn’t spotted is the counter-espionage agent sneaking in from the left.
On the 10th October 1991 I turned up in Yorkshire for what was originally planned to be a stay of a few weeks while I ‘got myself sorted out’. Twenty-eight years later, I am still living here: the last eighteen of those in Hebden Bridge. So let’s make today’s pic a home town shot. This is commercialism again, but of a far less predatory sort than yesterday’s. In the matter of boots, defer to the boot man (Bakunin — paraphrased). I hear the olives on the next stall along are pretty good too.
Always a good culinary moment. The first ones just seem to taste so much better. The act of peeling allows the anticipation to build pleasantly, before that opening bite allows the sweetness to cover the tongue. Well, it was the best bit of an otherwise very mundane working day.
First to be explicitly depicted on the blog, anyway — seen by sticking my head (and lens) upwards on a day trip to the in-laws’. The world turns…
I go one way, the bird goes its way, the cat goes that. None of us necessarily find out about what the “NO” is so keen to dissuade us.
This canal — and its birdlife — have featured once before, in Slaithwaite. But whereas that’s a fairly rural spot, this picture was taken in the midst of the industry of Huddersfield itself. Still, it delivered a mallard so superbly lit it might have employed a Hollywood lighting director, which graciously posed in the midst of slurping up the nearby vegetation.
Continuing my two-day walk, in the morning, the heath was at points a profusion of cobwebs, highlighted by dew and the morning sun: this photo captures a portion of it but cannot reflect the sheer scale of this spider-city, a fly’s vision of hell. When I returned past this point a few hours later, there was no sign of all this. Note the little brown leaf trapped to centre right, proof this is not a monochrome shot.
So many blackberries. So little freezer space. This clump dangles tantalisingly off the wall at the end of Victoria Road, ten feet up; no one can pick them. But then again so much of this free bounty remains unharvested at the end of a summer; and so in November, the shops feel it’s OK to sell the imports from Guatemala. What a waste…
