Journey of Words

Tag: Nature

  • Day 27

    Deep sleep broken by the unfamiliar heavy rain on the window; big, fat, heavy splats. I lie awake listening to the wind in the trees, until the rough sea and rain’s rhythm ease me back to sleep. The local temperature fell by more than sixteen degrees centigrade in less than twenty four hours. From shorts →

  • Domestic News

    The internal dialogue loops through courtesies, simple enquiries about health, discussions about food. Subtle changes in conversation lead to redrafted perceptions. Two siblings sharing a house again after more than four decades. As before, this is not through any fault of our own, but this time we make the rules. We are not so much →

  • Day 22

    No one, but no one, is on the road this morning. I cycle up the long rise away from the coast accompanied by larks above the meadows and bees in the hedgerows. A running hare skids to a halt in a shower of grit and dust as I come round a bend into its path. →

  • Day 21

    Four things I noticed today: 1. When walking through a cloud of midges the air is so quiet, so still, that I can hear the high pitch of their tiny whining wings. A large bee goes by with its deep familiar buzz emphasising the difference in size and tempo of wing beats between the insects. →

  • April Shower

    Drops plip, spilp, patter Sparrows enlivened chitter Sweet taste of normal . CLP 06/042020 →

  • Day 19

    After a night lit by the not yet full moon, a day of bright sunlight and a strong wind. This blow is hot and drying. It is relentless, like a wind that drives the locals crazy after weeks of it in Crete, or parts of southern Spain. It is not a wind to sit in. →

  • Day 16

    From childhood I remember guidance from Richmal Crompton’s “William” stories! How to track deer. It is dusk and as I make my way up the track into the west wind I see two red deer hinds grazing up to my left in the field just behind the hedge. I have my binoculars, but how close →

  • Under the Moon

    Turn through the gate And you’ll be at Peace Field A meadow, full of knee-high, soft, wild grasses Mixed with blues of corn flowers Yellows of buttercups Purple ragged-robins And browns and whites Of butterflies and moths On your left a mown path Winding through the orchard Still holding pink blossom On spreading boughs . →

  • Day 15

    April already! My day is consumed with detailed work, but it is still light enough for me to set out walking just after six in the evening. Bard Hill is covered in hawthorn bushes glowing with white blossom – it looks as if it’s snowed. I stop halfway up the traffic-free lane to listen to →

  • Day 12

    British Summer Time, the forward shift of clocks by an hour, has blown in on a gale straight off the North Sea. Hailstones are spat at the window. Some of the ice pellets stick before slipping slowly; disintegrating as they slide, leaving a tear stain on the pane. The hazel bush flexes in the gusts, →