Summer’s Serenade

Bouncing rain, birdsong, and an effervescence of grasses

Greetings from the moss,

Was I awake when it began, or did the sound of rain¹ stir me from sleep? A single clap of thunder. Then the drenching downpour, a percussive dance that brings the worms to the surface. Looking out, there are five mistle thrushes on the lawn, and a roe deer in the meadow.

By afternoon the heavy rain has turned to a gentle mizzle. It brings the strange sense of skin being softly probed, as if the weather itself has become animate. In the damp warmth, the meadowsweet has opened its buds, and the grasshopper warblers are singing. There seem to be more than I have ever heard before; perhaps it has been a good year for them.

I have recently learned that they turn their heads while singing, which makes them even harder to locate. They remain invisible to the eye, but here is their song:

Listen: The bird that pretends to be an insect

Click play to hear the grasshopper warbler ‘whirring’ beside a trickling burn

The afternoon belongs to the birds, and the low-slung cloud that has swallowed the hills. Trees sigh and shed heavy raindrops, yet the stream itself remains strangely silent.

There are no shadows today.

Finding the Light

Early morning. From the breakfast table I can see the way the sunlight silvers the tiny hairs of red campion. It is too much to resist.

I should have skipped cereal, or at least the toast. I am on the edge of being too late to catch the magic before the angle changes.

Just catching the morning rim-light on the glowing petals and silvered hairs of red campion (Silene dioica).

Further up the bank, the grasses still shimmy in a soft breeze. They come a close second to water for me, and every July I find myself falling in love with them all over again.

The textures of a warm July: delicate panicles catching the light; golden stalks and heavy heads bowing against a blue sky.

The Space In Between

The spaces this week are brilliantly lit as local temperatures climb to 32°C. The colours—Rosa rugosa aside—are soft and seductive.

I have come to realize that “the space in between” exists in the mind. It is found in that total suspension of thought and clock that a photographic exploration of nature and the garden can bring. You may find it elsewhere in your interests. And sometimes it is even there when weeding the garden.

The exception to the rule: the fierce armour of a Rosa rugosa stem against a blur of electric magenta

The mist has rolled in from the North Sea this week. The cool mornings have been a gift: an opportunity to wander slowly through meadow and wood, and over the moss before the sun breaks through the haar. I have taken way too many photographs, but it simply means there will be plenty more summer to share with you next time.

Until then,

If you’ve enjoyed this Letter from the Moss, please consider encouraging me to write more with a small one-off donation.

You can also help others find this letter online with a simple like or share. It isn’t hidden among the shadows of a paywall.

1. On the subject of the sound of rain, here is a lovely piece to read:

You can keep out the rain. You don't keep out the sound.