Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.

A frantic morning saw me zip across the bridge, head up to glorious Newtown, sit for a job interview, zip back down into town for the final walk back to Salamanca. In the rain. In the cold. In a suit. All went well and the future shall hold what she shall hold, far be it from me to second guess providence.

Of course, always on the lookout for a snap or two, I was equipped with camera at the ready. This prudence enabled me to take this somewhat interesting photograph of a very green looking Newtown, glowering under the portentous gaze of a mountain shrouded in cloud. [How about that sentence!?!]

I myself like the bleakly romantic image of those power pylons with those god-awful brown DHHS buildings that are a decent example of the brutalist architecture seen down this way in the late-1960s.

Despite that though, this image for me is kind of pastoral in a way (well, a modern pastoral at least). Perhaps ugly buildings and power pylons are the defining images of modern life, in the same way that haystacks and grazing sheep were in the nineteenth century.

I'm in a Dante Gabriel Rossetti mood today, and that's never healthy.