dominique cameron RSW

Fruiting, falling, rotting wood. Dark wood, sodden with a day’s rain. Slip, slide, squelch, stuck. I sit at the edge of the field, looking west. The sky brightens to an apricot glow on the horizon.

Walking a field beyond the village a buzzard hovers above me, it’s tail feathered rudder pitches and yaws to keep the bird still, it’s great wings motionless. We eye each other. Further along I disturb a flock of corn buntings, feeding on thistles along the field margin. They rise, settling on the overhead wires. Startled quail break cover with their whirring wings and much consternation. Meanwhile the buzzard flaps low, lazily over the stubble, as a crow swoops down, attacking the interloper. With a flick of its wing, the buzzard sends the crow spiralling, falling, righting itself just above the ground.

I am getting back to some painting, my studio is smelling of turps, well actually its lavender spike oil. I’ve had to stop using turps, don’t think its doing me any good, inhaling the fumes all day. But this afternoon I need to get out for a walk, so I decide on badgers wood. I didn’t realise how cool it is, a north east wind wheeking through the line of beech trees that mark the northern boundary. I check out the badger setts and make my way through the conifer plantation next to a the ruin of a cottage. Standing under the tall pines the wind creaks the branches, their voices exclaiming how inclement the weather has become. A buzzard replies with its plaintive cry, followed by a series of small squeaks from above – a pair of goldcrests dancing from one branch to the next, and above them a brown bird with a white front shambles its way up the tree. Odd. I’ll look it up when I get home. Out of the wood across the bare fields, the sky is darkening and the wind picks up. I make my way back , hands deep in my pockets, head down back to the car.

Back home over a cup of tea, I look up the bird I couldn’t identify. A tree creeper. Ha, well thats a new one for me. How brilliant is that.

Gurlie by the way means blustery, threatening, bleak weather.