The clocks going forward mean this is the first Sunday this year that I've been able to cycle back from Syston through Watermead park after an evening service.  I'd forgotten how beautiful and peaceful it is.

After a busy and momentous day, these words came to mind:

Story told, I return to the beginning
through a landscape gently muted.
 
A lazy cyclone of crows descends upon the tree tops
and a heron haunts the lake