The evening has already drawnacross the town moon-silvered cloudslike a sky-filled eiderdown.Boar Lane is coming to life, crowdstread cobbles that seemto hold on to sunset with the lightstreaming from windows. Like a dream,gas lamps, candles and lanterns brightentice carousers and romancersinto the pubs to escape the long haulof the working day, while dancersand singers are […]
Tag: John Atkinson Grimshaw
November Morning
Tattered trees pose, stark in their tracery, leaves all fallen sopping to the ground without a sound. A thin veil of amber hints at a struggling sun behind the mist, a sensual bounty across town and country. Warning of the coming chill, frost and fog cover every hill, the muffled silence broken only by the […]
