The white sheet fluttered down at the very edge of my vision
I saw it fold neatly in the cross wind and drop into the long, frosted grass of the field bank
In that moment, caught in my passing headlight
To all intents and purposes
It had the appearance of a barn owl
Falling on its prey
We are all at sea
Clouds ploughing over our heads
Wind blown, rain scoured
n.b. Storm Ciara turns the island into a vast ship pushing into the teeth of an Atlantic gale. Invigorating.
What drama awaits?
Crash! Pause. Bang! Fence creaks. Snap!
Scutter of debris
n.b. ‘Scutter’ may be a new word to you – it is to me. It is the sound of something hard and heavy being dragged in irregular bursts along a city street by a powerful draught, gust or gale.
As the day breaks temperature changes in the atmosphere brought with sunrise add complexity to the storm. This is one confused, angry storm.
By warmth of afternoon Sun
n.b. We await the arrival of Storm Ciara.
Earth tumbles off steel
Turned turf rolls over face down
Gulls trawl plough’s soil wake
n.b. After the urgent work of hedge cutting, trimming, mending, it is the time to plough. This is the moment to open the ground to air, rain and frost so the soil can break up, breathe and prepare for sewing and the warmth of spring.
It seems that every field I have passed from Norfolk to Hertfordshire is being worked today. This is the heavy, steady work of the season; rod by rod, acre by acre with the patience of the ploughman.
Dress of Wedding White
Delectable curves fill cloth
Sun casts confetti
n.b. I witnessed stunning views whilst travelling through the Southern Uplands this morning.
The white hills, dark clouds with Sun breaking through dropping more snow in curtains. A delicate show of light and shade was daubed onto the rounded terrain of south-west Scotland.
I have never seen such a magical snowscape; it was worth every mile driven on this excursion just to experience this today.