Day 267. Another cold, grey morning. Lying in bed, trying to work up the will to go out and shoot, on another cold, grey morning. I decide to go. The light is flat, dull, and I think of something I read, where the difference between a good and a bad photo, more often than not, can be determined in the first instance by the quality of the light. This morning’s light is lacking in quality. Still, I push on. As I drive up and out of the valley, suddenly the clouds part, just for the very briefest of moments, just a breath in the sky, exhale and it’s gone. But in that moment, the whole valley was flooded with light, catching the mist creeping its way along the river. As it burns away in the shock of it all, I’m there, for once, camera in hand.

Sharon suggests that I might be learning patience. Maybe. I tend to think it was just bloody-mindedness, stubbornness, something like that. Maybe they are all the same thing?