October, Deep Shade.
A stretch of hot sunny days at the end of October are strangely unsettling. Clear blue sky above doesn’t translate to uninterrupted warm sun light on the ground any more. The sun is low and barely skims the tops of trees. Light shines through things now, not over. While there are still leaves on trees they form an impenetrable obstacle for the weakening sun. Vast pools of wringing wet,...
October, An Echo of the Beginning.
In the beginning (of these lakes) was man. Man and his machinery. Digging and scraping for gravel, he roughly sculpted lakes. He built a dam. He diverted the river. He planted long rows of poplars and then he left. He left the place alone and it began to cloth itself in willow and alder, reeds and thorn. It invited all manner of fish and fowl and mammals into its tranquil safety. And for fifty...
As my hair is whipped across my face and the tape holding the paper onto the board in front of me is ripped off time and time again. As leaves swirl around me and jackdaws dance and chatter, I’m feeling exhilarated by my task of drawing the wind in the trees at the edge of the wood. The swoop and swirl of their branches is fascinating. Willow and birch, subject to every capricious gust,...
Is spindle a tree or a bush? Who knows. Who cares. Content to spend it’s days crouching in the shade of taller trees, this small bush is just there, underneath everything else. It isn’t remarkable, it’s not a plant you notice at all. It’s tiny greeny white flowers are hardly visible in the spring. The may and the rowen and the cow parsley are at their most seductive then,...
October, Arthur's Cows.
Arthur has only brought six of the cows back this year. Bossy Cow’s back and Annoying Cow’s here, and her daughter, who for the moment I can’t think of an obvious name for. And each of them has a small bull calf. The field has had six months of grazing free, riotous growth. The huge quantity of foliage seems to swallow the cows completely. Hidden amongst small alder trees and...