This blog has received a critique. (That’s the politically correct term writers use when we really mean criticism.) Apparently, it doesn’t have enough pictures.
I’m a pretty thick-skinned person - you have to be in this business - and normally, I’d do what I always do on such occasions: shower the critiquer in profuse expressions of gratitude and wait until they are out of earshot before blowing a raspberry.  In this case, though, the accusation may have merit.

Now, I could explain about how writers are supposed to paint pictures with words and actual pictures are cheating. Or, I could subject you to a lengthy diatribe that boils down to: my blog, my rules.  However, I am in the middle of revisions, on a fairly tight deadline, and there are only so many letters my fingers can type in a day. So, instead, I’m going to publish a little photo journal of my journey to the library three mornings a week, which is the only thing I do that is even remotely photogenic.

First stop after leaving the house is my neighbors’ front walk, where Maggie must be allowed to sniff my knees, otherwise she howls at me, which I don’t mind, but some of my neighbors might.

Then, I take a dirt path through a scrubby little meadow

that becomes a scrubby little forest

to the footbridge where I cross the river.

and pick up the bicycle path

which  I follow to the park where the railway embankment path starts. Most of the railway embankment path looks the same so just imagine twenty minutes of walking along this:

At the end of the railway embankment, the path runs behind back yards, where some interesting graffiti can be seen.  There’s this intriguingly unfinished observation. (Nose twitch? World go round?)

  and this completely unintelligible message that would not look out of place in the Netherlands, where graffiti has been raised to a fine art. (If you can read it, please enlighten me.)

Forty minutes after Maggie sniffs my knees, I arrive at the library

where I rule my little internet kingdom

with an iron fist.

 Is that enough pictures for you? Okay then. Don’t let me hear this critique again