At sunrise on Sunday morning the river and woods swirled with mists and vapours. The temperature veered wildly as we walked along the Bure towards the Common.  The Keeper’s Wood resounded with an unworldly noise. The calls of a dog Fox and Vixen rang around the marsh – presumably engaged in creating the next generation.  We dispelled thoughts of the Sherlock’s Grimpen Mire and carried on. The light changing continuously from mist to translucence within a few yards, then eventually settling into what passes for normal at this time of year. It was a morning that JMW Turner would have appreciated.