|Cypress Boatshed and Atlantic, pastel on paper, 16 x 16cm|
It was 8:30 and cold. I didn't want to go in and get more clothes because I knew the light would change beyond recognition so by the time I came in my hands were tingling. There was dew on the grass that had got in through the holes in my crocs. And the fog rolled in, hiding the water and the trees as I made my last few decisions.