Such incredible photos - so delicate and intricate, and I love your words. "When all around me is alive, I photograph death and decay" - oh yes, when all around me is alive I find myself writing of death. Spring has an undercurrent of death lurking just beneath the surface, always a little harder to see than all its loud and buzzing life. As observers of the detail, perhaps that's one reason why we are drawn to it - because it is so easy to overlook and yet it, too, is everywhere.
Thank you Rebecca. I wonder if in part this is down to our returning to the same places? We see past the novelty of the new, and find our view less selective? I think too that the moss plays its part, with the realisation that both living and dead become part of its weave.
Oh it's good to catch up on some of your writing, Michela! I started today with some physical stretching, and I now feel as though my mind has been everso gently stretched and opened up by your evocative words.
An absolute joy to read as usual Michela, I’m pleased I’m not the only one who thinks that Spring sneaks up on them despite being out around the farm everyday. How does it do that? And thank you so much for introducing me to Geoffrey Gevalt’s post, so powerful and moving and important all at once.
Thank you Dave. I wonder if it is that continuity that masks things? The way that you notice change in a relative or friend if you don’t see them for a while more than if you see them every day. Glad you enjoyed Geoffrey’s piece.
It’s so lovely to spend time letting your beautiful words soak in. It’s been a while since I've spent time here. Spring, in its full glory, has captured my attention of late.
Thank you Paul. I don’t blame you at all for soaking up Spring, and the riches around you. I always think that there will be days when indoors makes sense, and others that we really should make the most of outside.
Life and death come hand in hand in nature and I find both hold us in their spell when a camera is our only companion. Your photographs are beautiful Michela, the pheasant's foot, extraordinary. I also found a beautiful corpse, a female - why is it always so? - sadly mangled on my lane yesterday, I wish drivers would understand the consequences of driving too fast on small roads...
Thank you Susie. We can be very selective in what we photograph, yet somehow beauty always calls us. Sadly we see far too many casualties on our roads, as we are in an area of ‘shooting’ estates. I’m never sure which death is better, motor vehicle or gun?
Here too Michela, a place of blood sports and too large tractors driving too fast, my heart breaks ten times a week when I walk this lane. One can hope only that death came quickly…
Thanks Gaye! A previous version of me would have edited or redone the recording, but it feels more genuine to leave my mistakes, and my reaction to them, in. If it provides an unexpected moment of amusement, even better!
I feel as if I have been on a walk with you through your writing. Thank you for sharing this sketch made with words that contrasts, no, encompasses, life and death.
I love this:”When all around me is alive, I photograph death and decay. Some may think me strange, but it is all part of nature and there is no denying the small beauty at my feet.”
I love your photo's of the wood anemone, china blue forget-me-nots and your words describing spring. I was sad to see a female pheasant on the roadside last week, its glorious feathers all around. I gathered a few- couldn't resist. I still feed a number of pheasants. I am so fond of them, but they have no road sense. I do worry about them! Your photo of those feet makes me so sad.
Thanks Linda. When we look so closely it’s inevitable that we see some of the rawness of nature too. There’s a stretch of road a couple of miles away that is dreadful for pheasant roadkill; they come from the adjoining estate which buys them in. On a more cheerful note, we are delighted that some of their red-legged partridges have escaped. We see two of them regularly, and they always make us smile.
Thank you Lynne. I went through the same part of the wood today and while I found many (now) wet feathers, there wasn’t any other trace of the pheasant, which made it very otherworldly indeed.
Your kind words reach me as the day begins, the sky clearing after rain, a little mist forming in the valley. Together, they lift the heart a little. Thank you Felicia.
Pure magic, as always
Thanks Lyns.
Lovely photos and even lovelier prose. A wonderful walk with you and your keen eyes. Thanks for sharing
Thank you Lewis, I’m glad you enjoyed this.
Such incredible photos - so delicate and intricate, and I love your words. "When all around me is alive, I photograph death and decay" - oh yes, when all around me is alive I find myself writing of death. Spring has an undercurrent of death lurking just beneath the surface, always a little harder to see than all its loud and buzzing life. As observers of the detail, perhaps that's one reason why we are drawn to it - because it is so easy to overlook and yet it, too, is everywhere.
Thank you Rebecca. I wonder if in part this is down to our returning to the same places? We see past the novelty of the new, and find our view less selective? I think too that the moss plays its part, with the realisation that both living and dead become part of its weave.
Oh it's good to catch up on some of your writing, Michela! I started today with some physical stretching, and I now feel as though my mind has been everso gently stretched and opened up by your evocative words.
You’re so kind Lizzie, thank you!
An absolute joy to read as usual Michela, I’m pleased I’m not the only one who thinks that Spring sneaks up on them despite being out around the farm everyday. How does it do that? And thank you so much for introducing me to Geoffrey Gevalt’s post, so powerful and moving and important all at once.
Thank you Dave. I wonder if it is that continuity that masks things? The way that you notice change in a relative or friend if you don’t see them for a while more than if you see them every day. Glad you enjoyed Geoffrey’s piece.
You’re right of course but it still seems like a kind of magic or maybe witchcraft.
It’s so lovely to spend time letting your beautiful words soak in. It’s been a while since I've spent time here. Spring, in its full glory, has captured my attention of late.
Thank you Paul. I don’t blame you at all for soaking up Spring, and the riches around you. I always think that there will be days when indoors makes sense, and others that we really should make the most of outside.
You are most welcome! Today, I'm planting wildflowers at our cabin, and if the rains let up, I will go for a hike.
Life and death come hand in hand in nature and I find both hold us in their spell when a camera is our only companion. Your photographs are beautiful Michela, the pheasant's foot, extraordinary. I also found a beautiful corpse, a female - why is it always so? - sadly mangled on my lane yesterday, I wish drivers would understand the consequences of driving too fast on small roads...
Thank you Susie. We can be very selective in what we photograph, yet somehow beauty always calls us. Sadly we see far too many casualties on our roads, as we are in an area of ‘shooting’ estates. I’m never sure which death is better, motor vehicle or gun?
Here too Michela, a place of blood sports and too large tractors driving too fast, my heart breaks ten times a week when I walk this lane. One can hope only that death came quickly…
I felt very sad thinking that maybe the pheasant was looking for his mate.
I’m sorry it made you sad Christine, that wasn’t my intention.
I love your "take 3"...listening to your voice, oh pure magic, thank you Michela, so grateful!
Thanks Gaye! A previous version of me would have edited or redone the recording, but it feels more genuine to leave my mistakes, and my reaction to them, in. If it provides an unexpected moment of amusement, even better!
I feel as if I have been on a walk with you through your writing. Thank you for sharing this sketch made with words that contrasts, no, encompasses, life and death.
Hello Susan, and thank you so much. It’s good to be able to share what I see with you.
Such a beautiful walk! Thank you!
I love this:”When all around me is alive, I photograph death and decay. Some may think me strange, but it is all part of nature and there is no denying the small beauty at my feet.”
Thanks Manuela, so glad you enjoyed it. Give someone curious a camera and there is no telling what they will find interesting!
Exactly!
I love your photo's of the wood anemone, china blue forget-me-nots and your words describing spring. I was sad to see a female pheasant on the roadside last week, its glorious feathers all around. I gathered a few- couldn't resist. I still feed a number of pheasants. I am so fond of them, but they have no road sense. I do worry about them! Your photo of those feet makes me so sad.
Thanks Linda. When we look so closely it’s inevitable that we see some of the rawness of nature too. There’s a stretch of road a couple of miles away that is dreadful for pheasant roadkill; they come from the adjoining estate which buys them in. On a more cheerful note, we are delighted that some of their red-legged partridges have escaped. We see two of them regularly, and they always make us smile.
Your photograph of the bird’s claws is the most otherworldly photograph I think I’ve ever seen, extraordinarily moving.
Thank you Lynne. I went through the same part of the wood today and while I found many (now) wet feathers, there wasn’t any other trace of the pheasant, which made it very otherworldly indeed.
"...it is all part of nature." Yes.
Thanks Susanna.
This is a bunch of fuzzy warmth for you : you give us your Scottish spring like a gift, I receive it gratefully.
Your kind words reach me as the day begins, the sky clearing after rain, a little mist forming in the valley. Together, they lift the heart a little. Thank you Felicia.
Beautiful ode to spring 🌼
Thank you Sophie. Autumn-time for you, I know.