A burning bronze sun partially disappears behind sparse cloud coverage; soon, a bright waning gibbous moon lights my way.

Tess’s head lifts from her normal ground-sniffing pose, and her ears sharpen; the inpenetrable darkness for me hides something of interest for my dog.

Two rambling piles, the aroma of freshly-sawn wood, pressure-treatment glistening in the morning sun. My next project has begun.

I am in the city; glitzy mobile phone palaces vie for attention, assaulting my eyes with bright lights and brash colours, but salesmen wander the floors, lonely.

Shop doors locked, with SALE signs half-hanging like last year’s Christmas decorations; insular pedestrians gaze through shop fronts at luxuries out of reach; grey concrete, lifeless and drab.

Bright sunlight makes diamond slashes of the waves; overcoats are buttoned against the winter wind, but scarves fly and flap like trapped starlings.

Bags of rubbish bask in the sun, awaiting collection; Tess sniffs the air, appreciating forbidden aromas; puddles of seawater lay where they were hurled overnight by storm tides.

There are warnings of storms, with high winds and torrential rain; but on the beach, the sea rolls in, sedate and benign; the sun shines, and the dog wags her tail to say that everything is okay.

Unusual for winter, cows get to sample fresh air outside barns; barren fields await the gentle caresses of spring sunshine; then the rise and fall wail of a police siren shatters the tranquility, and in the distance, a hovering black helicopter becomes a harbinger of the return to urbanity

All ambient noise is blocked by the music in my ears, but I can sense the wind shaking the garage. Cats look through the window, wanting shelter, but wary of whirring wheels.