As
I sit at the studio desk writing up my Mist over Langsett
sketchbook, a couple of resplendent birds visit the garden.
A
jay with cinnamon-pink breast perches in next door's
weeping willow and, mid-morning, I'm startled by the spectacle of
a cock pheasant flying by, just on my (first floor)
eye level. It hurtles along like a plumed turban shot from a catapult,
the long tail feathers flexing into flourishes as it slams on its
air brakes over next door's patio.
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As
I sit at the studio desk writing up my Mist over Langsett
sketchbook, a couple of resplendent birds visit the garden.
A
jay with cinnamon-pink breast perches in next door's
weeping willow and, mid-morning, I'm startled by the spectacle of
a cock pheasant flying by, just on my (first floor)
eye level. It hurtles along like a plumed turban shot from a catapult,
the long tail feathers flexing into flourishes as it slams on its
air brakes over next door's patio.
