Solstice

A day caught between two spells of winter's darkness; the loneliest days, the days most distant from other days. A time defined like no other winter-time by an absence of light; these are the shortest days, eight hours of light between nights sixteen hours long.  

A misty day perhaps uncertain of its brightness, spent on house jobs and bank jobs, last minute groceries.  We drove up to Old Radnor and met the woman who runs the pub with her husband, but had no time for a pint.   The day began to fade with the mist coming down the valley, and what warmth there was left with the last of the light.  A fire wood stop on the way home for tea and yesterday's biscuits;  it was getting dark at 4pm.  But from tomorrow, minute by minute, the days begin to lengthen again.    

And no images at the moment due to a virus threat; how differently words read alone.