Wilford Bridge

The light is low and golden, the shadows long; the reeds hiss and shimmer in the late January gusts. The silt, exposed as the tide is low, is black against the golden shafts of the reeds, stretching almost shore to shore with just the slimmest slither of silvery water exposing the only remaining navigable channel. In this light everything glows… lime green lichen on the birches zings against the vibrant red shafts of dogwood behind, and the grasses in their winter finery rustle in shades of ochre and rust. Cameras were invented for days like this - everywhere I point my Nikon there is a new vista, a new scene of golden perfection…

This scene, idyllic, peaceful, inspiring is just outside of bustling Woodbridge - but the silence is only punctuated by the sounds of the countryside and a very occasional ‘Greater Anglia’ hissing by…I am always so humbled by the beauty on my doorstep…