At the end of our front path this evening: a tasteful assortment of Mexican Hats and some kind of dandelion-family flower. The yellow flowers are determined to echo the yellow of the sunset - they would have been even more successful fifteen minutes later on, but we were heading towards the far side of our evening loop. It's so strange writing about the Sublime - and picking out various slides - and being faced with it evening after evening in terms of the sky, which looked tonight, once again, as though it had been lifted straight out of John Martin/Albert Bierstadt - two painters who never believed in painting the quiet and inconspicuous if they could possibly avoid it.
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