Thursday, 17 April 2014

Hill above Hénon, morning

Sounds of mistle thrush, robin, wren, blackbird, stonechat, yellowhammer, chaffinch, blue and great tits, cuckoo.

Picot edging and Amos Barton.

Sea in the distance; Mol dozing in a the sun.

Monday, 14 April 2014

Down the road, evening

Swallows are properly back at last, sorrel is bolting already into sharp red points, poplars in the valley are beaten copper behind the white cherry blossom, a marvel every year.

Sunday, 6 April 2014

Down the road, evening

Top-lit piles of bright cloud are cross-hatched by still bare poplars, everything is late but there's a green sheen on the willows now and the verges are sprinkled with stitchwort.

Wednesday, 12 March 2014

Down the road, evening

The fire lit, a quick turn.  A midwife toad chirps in the ditch.

'And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.'

Those lines were dear to him, I know.

Thursday, 13 February 2014

Down the road, afternoon.

It's chilly, the weather's been atrocious, Molly is recovering from a bad back, but we are happy to take the gentlest of turns and sniff the air and the grass.

Saturday, 1 February 2014

Down the road, evening.

Again and again this relief, gratitude, disbelief nearly, that we can once more walk in daylight at six o'clock. I can see why, perhaps, they raised stones to ensure it.

Monday, 13 January 2014

Up the road, afternoon (Saturday)

Sunshine, people emerge like squirrels.  Blue sky in the standing water of the empty maize field, the silvered winter stalks inscribe it like a lost alphabet.  The inland hills sharp.

Friday, 10 January 2014

Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoon

Returning jump leads to the garage opposite, engine running, Mol requests a (very) quick walk.  A bright shimmer on the face of the water: an afterthought of the Christmas gales.

Sunday, 29 December 2013

Up the road, morning.

Sunshine. Fieldfare in the ash tree shouts loud as a magpie. Little old dog, slow and distracted, cheerful.

My heart full and heavy as a silk purse filled with gold.

Wednesday, 2 October 2013

Down the road, evening.

There are splashes and flashes of light and shadow across the world, a theatre of sun and wind conducted from very high by a dancing cirrus djinn with ribboning fingers.

Up the road, afternoon.

Daddy-longlegs are everywhere, floundering stupidly over road and verges, banging into us.  Why aren't there birds to eat them?  The swallows could have feasted but it's too late, they're gone.

Monday, 9 September 2013

Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoon.

The shadows of trout, red-finned and huge, drift then splash and churn the water noisily as I pass.  Oh please no, not the bloody Schubert Trout Suite earworm again...

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

Down the road, evening.

The sun has set on us, but not on the maize one field away, nor the masts on Bel-Air, nor the jet-trails above, nor the wings of six gulls flying.

Sunday, 1 September 2013

Down the road, evening

There are plenty of swallows flying, but I realise they are no longer gathering in chattering crowds on the wires, or waking us early, singing from the gutters and aerial.

Down the road, Friday evening

Am odd patch of yellow catches my eye; we take the field track to see.  It is a single sunflower, with a round, pale centre, self-seeded among the feed cabbages.