mending a window

Here's my father doing one of the things at which he excels: mending something.  It turns out that the window panes in the dining room aren't real window panes - they're standard plate glass with wooden bars, like trellis work, stuck on both sides, and one of the sets of crossbars has just fallen off.  

I know that, over the years, I've assembled a number of pictures of my father from behind - and it always makes him look - as it would with anyone - somehow rather alone and vulnerable.  But he's not over-enthusiastic about being photographed portrait-style, and this way (even if I feel in some uncomfortable way as though I'm spying on him) I know that I get to show him as he actually is.  But it's also a great picture of the garden: I love how the tree with a squared off top manages to look a bit like a church tower in an ultra-English fashion (there is, in fact, a chapel about two hundred yards to the left, invisible) - and the grass couldn't look more green and English, because, yes, rain.