Great clouds fill and fold, flow and bubble, build to heights as high as they dare, so high they can no longer be the same stuff from top to bottom, their summits another world. Geologic colours of slate, quartz, gneiss, marble, molten in their outpouring, a pale schist mantling the coast to the north.
A skylark’s song spills over and out across the fields where a kestrel tacks, alternately coasting and straining into the strong wind. Sunshine rays of celandine warm the understory of a large chestnut and I am reminded that we never get tired of seeing a new season emerge. It is always as if its new and the way we look deepens with age. It intensifies to a point where, at times it feels as if our heart might break when now looking at the first primrose in the wood. Walking along the track the wind pushes at my back, hurrying me home. Light and life are returning to our northern edge.
This is just a huge thankyou to all the people who helped raise the final amount of £1110.45 for War Child UK. They let me know yesterday the money has been received and express their gratitude to everyone who contributed. Should any of you who helped wish to see their report and thank you letter I will forward it on to you.
The book to accompany the project on my local landscape is here. Each copy is £15 which includes postage. If you would like one then email me at – firstname.lastname@example.org. It looks fantastic thanks to Gary Doak’s photography and Iain Sarjeant’s design. Thanks to both of them for getting this publication together, it has meant a great deal .
Many of the pieces in the book will be part of a three person exhibition starting on April 9th with Tatha Gallery. You will be able to view the images on their website and buy online if you want any of the work. We are hoping that it might be possible to visit in person before the end of the show which ends the in the first week of May. Fingers crossed…….
The damp from last nights rain seeps into my old shoes numbing toes as the wind finds my fingers, stiffening the joints making it difficult to draw. But I am here and that feels fine enough. I sit in one of the iron age hut circles still visible with my back tucked between rocks that make up the surviving boundary wall. Rain spots the paper as a hand not quite my own scootles over the terrain with a crayon, looking, listening to the song of skylarks in the fields below. A bumblebee sits to my side, its wings gently folded against it’s body. Rabbit’s fur caught on a gorse branch smokes in the wind that whips my hair toward a crow and the horses watch on. A dog barks on a farm.
Skylarks and lambs, that’s how it is today, the spring is almost come. At least it settles in the lee of the dyke where stones warm to the notion. Grass bleached, scoured, hungover, stretches and yawns, saying it will get going shortly, in a bit….. promise.