. rosebank ramblings .

creating something out of a lot of little nothings

About Me

My photo
Leicestershire, United Kingdom
I am a day dreamer and romantic. I like to write stories and poetry, read a good book, and tend my garden. I live deep in the heart of the countryside and love being surrounded by all that nature has to offer. My camera and journal are never far from my side as I try to record each and every moment of what is important to me.

Friday, 22 July 2016

Fields of Burnished Gold ...

Van Gogh's true colours exposed – the week in art | Art and design ...:  
Vincent van Gogh

All this unexpected summer sunshine is ripening the crops in the fields - nothing more beautiful than a field of golden corn waving in the breeze. I mounted my trusty steed and cycled down into the valley, all the while listening to the buzzards mewling above; catching the thermals and circling higher and higher.

The farmers have been busy working into the night to get the crops and hay gathered before the weather turns, dotted across the fields the black specks of  scavenging crows pecking around for fallen seed and grain.

Fields of Gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky,
When we walked in fields of gold.


There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,
There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,
The corn is as high as an elephant's eye
And it looks like it's climbin'
Clear up in the sky
 And then all the heavy machinery will come in; cutting and threshing; grain belching out from funnels into the wagons trundling behind; then the  baling machines gather up hay and straw into huge bales, wrapping them in black plastic, a blot on the countryside, and the harvest is complete for another year - the circle of the year keeps turning. 
"The whirr of the mower met us across the stubble, rabbits jumped like firecrackers about the fields, and the hay smelt crisp and sweet.  The farmer's men were all hard at work, raking, turning, and loading.  Tall, whiskered fellows forked the grass, their chests like bramble patches.  The air swung with their forks and the swathes took wind and rose like eagles to the tops of the wagons.  The farmer gave us a short fork each and we both pitched in with the rest ..."
(extract from Cider with Rosie, Laurie Lee)
gathering in the harvest, the traditional way c. 1900 
Haystack 1890 - a beautiful sight - expertly constructed
Haystack, c 1842., Talbot, William Henry Fox: