7.30 on a March morning in Eden Valley river mist. The sun a small pale disc through the white mist curtain which grew and grew, became gold and washed the river and fields with amber light. Sight is one sense, but if you could hear this photograph all you would hear is the softly flowing river, oyster catches, curlews, blue tits, a distant woodpecker, honking geese in the fields and a peewit.
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