It depends on the day of the week and time of the day as to what I can see from my window. At work, apart from the large curatin, dating from the late sixties, with psychedelic designs on it, and a clock in the shape of a fat cat with a wagging tail, I can see through a window to my right onto a fairly busy paved area with a yellowinsh brick wall the other side. There are evergreesn trees in aplot within my line of sight. There is a sporadic flow of students and colleagues going past, with people waving to me - even those that I know, occasionally! It is easy to keep my eyes away from the outside, so I often don't know what the weather is doing outside. This is more often than not an advantage, in the wet and windy climate of Northern Emgland.

At other times, when I am at home, I can see across the small and untidy plot which is my garden to a grassy field inhabited by an old horse. Well, it looks old - I'm no expeert where hores are concerned. The hedges round the field are alive with birds - a situation that one of my cats (Chaos by name and nature!) is trying to alter, damn his claws. Mostly they are starlings and sparrows, with a resident robin and wren and occasional blue-tits and great-tits. There is a noisy colony of magpies nearby, who often visit and sit on the roof of my house calling out what sounds suspiciously like rude comments on all they see.

Beyond the field, past and estate of houses, I can see the low hills that separate my house from the nearby estuary of the river Lune. These are grassy, and inhabited by cows and sheep, who shelter from sun and rain under a clump of trees at the top.
"A pleasanter spot you ne'er did spy . . ." (Browning)

And all this a ten minute bus-ride from the vast metropolis of Lancaster!