Scooping up the crumbling remains of a rashly bought mince pie (Savoury- I'm not going there yet), and trying not to drip either pastry or gravy down my front, I realise I only have ten minutes left of break.
I jolt my eyes open and quickly realise there is no time to map out the negative of reflections of light on the river, nor the intricate detail of the ship yards in the distance - dappled and disguised through the shade of an icy evening sun (perhaps something like a previous attempt:
Instead I fix my eyes on the abandoned jetty in front of me. Warnings tell me not to enter, but don't stop me from looking for the detail.
Time is ticking - so I focus on line, knowing I'll get sidetracked, but at least giving me some hope. Quickly I put in the limits of the drawing- lines down the sides. Using the knots as plot points I get them in before charting the grain among their centres of gravity. Inevitably some shading creeps in, but by now the few grains of sand are nearing their completion and I have to tug my brain from its absorption with the detail.
Relcutantly I bring myself back to the pressing; though my mind has taken time to breath - to suppose, as even in the capturing of this and that, I find that my thoughts have gone here and there.
So later I find myself picking up on a shape, the flow, something random - and wondering. It's nice - or maybe not?