Hello, and welcome.
Last week I shared with you some of my words for water. I loved writing about these and want to say a special thank you to those of you who commented.
This week has seen an over abundance of image making. Autumn has again distracted me. Between the rain and sometimes in it I’ve been out watching the trees. The leaves have now mostly fallen, fulfilling their destiny to replenish the earth. Today it was the lime that decorated the ground. The beech trees are hanging on, just about. This year many carry leaves in a strange shade of dark rust, as if the water has also tarnished them.
I should be happy with all this water, but I’m used to making do with a little. The stuttering pools have become ditch-like, the water dark, the magic harder to find. Autumn feels abbreviated and there has been little mellow fruitfulness. Fortunately last Saturday was an exception, first obscured and then sparkly by turn. I’ll take you on a walk with me before sharing new insights.
Saturday. I wake to vapour. Mist is drifting up the valley, down the valley and up again. I head out for a walk.
The grass is more yellow than green, gaily decorated with birch leaves. I get waylaid crossing the moss by the jewels of water hanging on every branch, leaf and blade. I duck under a single silken thread of spider between pine and fence. I find myself stopping, entranced by those jewels. This wasn’t what I came out for but it’s nice just to go with the moment. As I spend some minutes here I feel the warmth of the sun breaking through. The bird song increases; they sense it too. Mornings like these transport us.
The next wave of vapour washes up the valley. And then, slowly, it begins to dissolve. I find it hard to pull myself away. From this moment, this memory, into the cool damp of the wood.
Come with me for a minute - my words can follow us, but do please return to pick up the thread.
My thoughts are accompanied by the gentle but insistent tap-tapping of the woodpecker. The sun throws long shadows through the trees; I’m in the mix, both vertical and horizontal at the same time.
I’m taking too many photos of things that I tell myself won’t move me on. Autumn is making me greedy. Season of harvest. I’m doing my best to gather it all in before the onset of winter. As I find myself drawn by that special northern light to the tangle of branches it seems the polar opposite of my usual vision and practice. It’s easy to dismiss this as mere distraction brought on by the richness of season but it occurs to me that perhaps they are both parts of the whole. That one is as important as the other.
It’s funny, because I thought that if there was a tension, a counterpoint in my image making, it was between sharp and soft. Now it occurs to me that there is another, between complex and simple. Perhaps this too is a reflection of self? Two sides of the same coin? I lose myself again, thinking this through while focusing on the myriad droplets of water that adorn a large area of young birch in the middle of the wood. Have I stumbled into revelation? It’s certainly food for thought, even if it’s probably been obvious to observers.
I thought I was going out to look into the water today and instead I find I’ve been looking into myself. Still reflecting.
I haven’t travelled that far this morning. I certainly haven’t burnt many calories, but it has fired neurons and I feel like I’ve taken another step forward in my understanding.
I finally drag myself out of the wood, past some of my favourite birch trees that almost drip with lichen and delay me some more. I get to the carriage drive and stop again again. I feel like I’ve just walked into an all-you-can-eat buffet such is the assault of colour; I’ve already eaten yet here I am gorging again.
The photo below is of a little friend that I met on Sunday. I heard a noise, stopped dead, and there he/she was. Instead of disappearing up the tree, the squirrel posed photogenically, and didn’t even bolt in the minutes that I spent going from just enjoying the sight to seeing if I could quietly get my camera out.
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Until next week,
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I did indeed enjoy this walk with you. You write beautifully and I feel the moisture and the flow of your morning. Looking forward to reading more.
I enjoyed 'joining' you on your walk. I also have a deep connection to water and your imagery really speaks to me.