2 NOVEMBER 1985, Page 32

Lakeside: February

Mud lane descending, the lake squared-on to vision, crammed with early sail vanishing and reappearing beyond headlands.

Diagonal white horses blown to a slurp at the foot of small turf cliffs, kite straining in streaming air, the soft geometry of wind and wave.

Such scapes walked into from quiet and ordinary days: the light or the absence of it, a sky tumbling, water sad as any sea.

Robin Maunsell