Here's some foxes on Pickle Hill in the Vale of Pewsey. Artisitic licence was involved; the summit of the hill is bald except for the trig point, but there you go. This pic was for a friend who likes foxes. That's her boat down there.
I'm moored up in the Vale now, and it is lush in the 'lush places' sense as well as the Bristolian sense. I've been out sketching trees; they're very handy for life drawing exercises, because they don't need to take breaks. Though these last few days they hardly ever keep still. The gale that blew along the Vale yesterday had the grass and trees rolling like breakers at sea, and it was lively and all rather beautiful.
Played merry heck with the poor hireboats that have begun venturing out, though. They were being blown all over the place. This is the sort of weather for tying up and battening down.