Sunday, 28 June 2015

the wanderer returns ...


 
Hello!
I have been away
but
now I'm back
with stories to tell.
I have missed our little chats.
 
 
Hot sun and cooling breezes.  The beach - seeming to  stretch to the edge of the world. A perfect part of the east coast.  Surf rolling in - hissing and swooshing over the pebbles.  The tide line a mass of razor shells crunching beneath your feet.  The rhythmic sounds  soporific as  the water ebbs and flows - holding your gaze  it mesmerises - the sun glinting off the water like water sprites  luring you in with false promises.
 
I return home refreshed and revitalised.
 
 


Wednesday, 17 June 2015

A Change is as Good as a Rest ...

 



"Why do you go away?  So that you can come back.  So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colours.  And the people there see you differently too.  Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving" ~ Terry Pratchett
 
 
A change of scenery.
A change of routine.
To find new words.
New thoughts.
New inspiration.
 
Time for a break.
 
See you soon.

Sunday, 14 June 2015

Tales of the Riverbank ...


  
It was a hot and muggy afternoon - the distant village paled in the heat haze.

Rain threatened.

 
We walked the canal towpath as narrow boats chugged past and flag iris dipped their roots in the cool water.

Rain threatened.

 

 

 
Hedgerow and tree were reflected; a double image.

 
 
Ewes and lambs took their afternoon siesta in the shade of the waterside oaks - a pastoral scene worthy of any Old Master. We heard the squawking of a heron gracefully flying overhead as ducks and ducklings idly paddled downstream.

Rain threatened.


 


 




We saw the rolling hills and alien bracket fungus and trees growing at jaunty angles almost as if they were being drawn to the water.  Campion and buttercup lined the path with purple pea vetch flourishing.

The rain came.

  

 
A gentle rain that pitter-pattered on the water surface - a rain neither here nor there. It was not until the middle of the night that it began to rain with force.  Dramatic- with added thunder and lightning for greater effect.  Hitting the windows hard and with vengeance.


Morning came in shades of grey - the sky still heavy with cloud and water.  The garden flattened and rain-soaked.  Pure and unadulterated; rain that seeped through the soil way down to the roots.

 
The garden and I say thank you.

You were desperately needed.



 And just as an extra bonus photograph I thought I would share with you a delightful creature that we saw in the front garden pecking at some grass seed we had put down to cover a bare patch on the lawn.  A lovely red legged partridge - soaking wet, poor thing - but what a nice surprise.



And to complete the story - an amazing sunset.



Elaine

 

Thursday, 11 June 2015

A Woodland Tale ...



For a long time now I have visited a nearby woodland - well, it's more of a copse really - a chestnut copse - an ancient chestnut copse, that was once worked by woodsmen who earned their living from the trees.  Now long  abandoned and left to its own devices inhabited only by creatures of the night.  A secret silent place, save for the soughing of the wind in the tree tops, the sound of the songbird and the sudden flapping of wings from a startled pigeon.
 


There are no trails or pathways to follow as I wind my way through the semi-darkness looking for the light.  Just me, alone with my thoughts, scrunching on dead leaves and  spikey chestnut husks; snapping dead twigs with each footstep.
 
 
A squirrel follows me from high above, racing along the gnarled and twisted limbs of the trees.  The woodland floor is lush with snagging brambles and nettles that sting my ankles and bluebells gone to seed.  Where the canopy is spare shafts of sunlight shine through and dapple  everything with spheres of light.
 
 


There are humps and hollows in the dry earth where the badgers have made their homes and come out to play as evening falls. Evidence of  rotten trees that fall in high winds, no one to hear them as they tumble and crash through the undergrowth. 
 
 
Out in the light bracken grows shoulder high  and saplings flourish - there is green of every hue, inviting you further in as you lose all sense of time and direction.
 
 



Making my way slowly to the edge of the wood I see a clearing with sheep grazing contentedly in the fields beyond - I blink in the bright daylight as I take in the patchwork of fields on the horizon. Such a bucolic sight and one that I hold dear.  I wander around a little more then make my way back to the road - the spell is broken - but this special place of quiet tranquility is  imprinted on my memory, till the next time I  feel the need to visit.
 
 

 

 
Elaine
 

 

Sunday, 7 June 2015

In Search of Flowing Streams ...


I collect words - strange, but true.  I have a page on pinterest   specifically for words that I like the sound of; words that we don't use any more but say exactly what we are trying express.  Querencia is one such word.

n. A place from which one's strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.

  
That place for me is beside water; especially shallow moving water; streams, rivers, brooks and creeks.  Delighting in the sound of water tinkling over stones, glimmering and sparkling in the sunlight - watching small fish darting amongst the flowing weed.



This morning I went in search of a flowing stream down in the hollows behind my home.  Since my last visit in February here everything has become so overgrown, with knee-high buttercups and mares tails, that the water wasn't visible; tantalisingly I could hear the trickle as it meandered through the long grasses and overhanging trees.
 

 


I had to settle for the pond with its dark shadows, murky depths and brackish weed-filled  water; still and silent; moorhens hiding in the undergrowth afraid of humans - used only to cows, who come to drink from the water's edge.

 
 
 


My quest failed; the longing for moving water remains - to sit on the banks of a stream and look into the depths; watch the infinite patterns as the water makes its way downstream; clear and pure, tumbling over rocks and stones - tempting me to dip in my toes and feel the icy chill - alas, it will have to wait for another time, another place.

via Tumblr
Elaine
thank you to all who commented on my last post on Friday - I had to delete it as something had gone horribly wrong and it wasn't working properly.