After days of rain today was bright and breezy. I took my lunch to Arbor Low with the intention of sketching. Somehow it wasn’t the day so I wandered around listening to the wind and the odd crow.It was nice to have the place to myself. I returned home drenched in sadness for some reason I cannot explain.
I opened the front door to see the most beautiful rainbow over Longstone Edge. Grabbing my kit I set out on a walk on what we lovingly call the Rivendell round. In the hedgerow signs of Autumn were obvious in the changing colours. Blackberries finished now and elderberries were looking splendid.
Showers whipped in on the wind coming and going and leaving faint rainbows that hung like ghosts an the damp air.
There was a sense of timelessness in the atmosphere. Sheltering under a canopy of branches I felt as though my body had dissolved and all that remained was the essence of “me”.
“time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future” .TS Eliot.
We are sitting quietly at Stoke Flat Stone Circle. Whispered prayers of peace float on the warm September breeze . It is a ” moment” for just “being”.TheAutumn Equinox is just a couple of days away.Sun and Moon both in the blue sky.
I sketch a couple of watercolours.
Back home we have tea and cake. Above our heads the local Rooks nag each other floating on the thermals. A couple of dozen starlings fly backwards and forwards seemingly uncertain of what to do.
I work on a couple of landscapes and choose Arvo Parts ” the Deers Cry” to accompany the low shafts of sunlight. Later the sky is a pale orange before the half moon rises.
Midway through August a sense of the end of Summer seemed to arrive early.By the first week of September the sun had receded further South and the light was changing. There were blackberries . Walking to the “owl” we chatted about the sadness we felt that both the Barn Owl and now the Little Owls no longer seemed to inhabit the barn we lovingly called “the Owl” . Standing on the “magic bench ” we looked North West feeling just a chill in the air.
The Swallows swooped restlessly over the fields probably dreaming of North Africa.