A recent search among Tom’s brewing supplies discovered a bottle whose contents suggested mystery. We opened it, and it turned out that the bottle did not contain questionable mead at all, but was rather a Landlord clone, of at least two years vintage. It was clear as a bell and tasted delicious – evidently one can leave this stuff in its bottles for longer than one expects without fear of decomposition . . . or explosion.
The marvellous mystery ale has inspired a day of industry. A new brew is brewing. . .
. . . the Christmas cake is about to go in the oven. . .
. . . and I have ripped my fishy project back to the beginning, re-charted it, and started knitting it again. I woke up in the middle of the night and had an idea for its improvement that I just couldn’t shake. This is the way it goes sometimes. I am sure that the fishy thing will look better for the re-working, and find myself excited about it anew. And there was further fishy excitement this week . . .
This is the weir on the water of Leith close to where I live and you’ll just have to take my word for it that the white dot between the water and the bank is a heron. (Really, it is a heron.) I see this particular heron-buddy in the same spot every day, and often wonder if the pickings in that part of the water are rich. It turns out that the heron must be enjoying a seasonal feast, as, after some heavy rainfall the other day, I spotted several huge salmon leaping the weir to get upstream. It was curious to see this in the middle of the city, surrounded by old mill buildings and chimneys – the relics of Leith’s industrial past. I have been enjoying John Muir’s writing recently, and was reminded of his words about nature’s restlessness and resilience. It seemed good to think of life renewing itself in this dark, declining part of the year.