Despite all the confusion about what is and isn't local, in law or in spirit my horizons are limited about as far I can drag myself away from Bureboy Villas on foot as the Commander in Chief is hunkered down for the duration. For now anyway. So output might get bit samey as there is nothing that scenic or spectacular in this light industrial market town with zero architectural splendour or boujie artisanal outlets or quirky streets with crooked cottages.
A sunset is always worth a punt and I'm sure we'll get to see a few variations on this scene as it opens out just two minutes walk up the road. I'm not brave enough to suggest to the Commander in Chief that I leave her with Little Uns to seek out panoramic sunrises before breakfast, especially with the hell of home schooling visited on her and the Prodigal for the foreseeable future.
For those with a log pile fetish this boundary marker might get the pulse racing. I'm guessing at least part of it fell from a great height on the original fence, and the occupiers thought they'd open up their vista to take in the view across the fields and the sunset which has in part bathed the pile in an ethereal light.