Woodland Evening

Against the oak tree I sit, my mind cluttered with flirtaceous thoughts: things dipping in and out of my thinking, teasing and all competing for my attention. The day, past, has devoured my energy and so I have stepped out on a small journey to find settlement and calm from all that clusters around me and space that sits outside my immediate needs.

In this place I am amongst my 'other' friends. The greenery around me seems so distant from the busyness of my work, family, and various preparations for creative experiences. I ask for a touch of the other; the language of the landscape and the poetry of the breeze in the trees around me. Here, with only a slight breath that moves the leaves of bramble and oak I absorb the cool stillness. Stillness like the presence of the silent trees whose sense of time seems to belong in another perspective - their slowness of being shames our competitive spirit.

And the song of the birds carries through the dimming light - not songs of high energy like in the early morning, but songs of passing, patience and subtlety.

How small I am in this place, where tallness draws from the undisturbed earth and which is reflected in my new expressions of artwork. How weak is my ability to exist here unaided. How much I have lost though my ancestors and the desire of the world to take nature away from existence.

One day I will return.

I leave, settled.

I give thanks to this place of blessing.

* * * * *

I see four hares as I leave the wood.

Reflections

I'm sitting in the summerhouse on a cool and overcast July evening. I'm not sure what I am going to write about, I will see where I am lead.

Direction
I've thought a lot about direction over the past few months, mainly in terms of career and personal development, and have found it a bit stressful as I really don't know what to do and so much interests me!

Creative Energy
My focus now seems to have returned to my creative side. Perhaps because I know I ought to make the best use of the warm summer months when being creative is easier. There is more time and space to appreciate all that the earth can show me and I know it will pass by all too quickly. I seem to have found some positive focus for my own personal artwork. For me, things seem to evolve slowly and I seem to be feeling a sense of a more definite connection between various things around me and my creative energy. I won't expand on it here as I don't want to try and spend writing time describing things that are very visual. Through my job designing greetings card I have taken my artistic skills into new territory and I feel things are beginning to merge in my creative side that incorporates nature, spirituality, gardening, imagination, drawing, sculpture and much more.

Blog
Being inspired to write and to keep adding to this blog is not always easy and I could so easily give up! I don't feel as though it has had its time though, I think I have to dig deeper to get material and to keep the mind thinking and the soul nurtured. I am not in a very stimulating environment that keeps the blog-fire burning! Time is also precious.

Prayer
I'll end this note with a sort of prayer. Excuse any vagueness, but I am always cautious about bearing some specific details or mentioning names in public.


There is a stillness in the garden
a stillness that awaits, listens, welcomes and yet
bears strength and growth that is unseen
by the minds that are excited and seek stimulation.
May my spirit dwell in the garden of my soul,
to be calm, to not anger, to not worry, to not grow weary:
may there always be a silent inner strength
to be who I am meant to be, to grow,
to create, to love, to honour and to respect.

To all persons, human and non,
may I give myself freely and yet with wisdom,
understanding and strength.

To my family, J and E
I pray that we will be close and loving
like the creative love that gifts us with this earth.
When tired, sick, angry or frustrated
may peace fall like the raindrops
that have now gently begun to fall
upon the garden around me -
touching, cooling, refreshing, healing:
a presence that absorbs all incongruent energy
giving freely and with the knowledge of
its passing and revealing the new.

I ask for blessings
and the welcome of others
to guide and inspire us
in the dreams of our souls.

July Morning

(I am sitting at the edge of some fields near Lilley)

Morning clouds reveal an increasing blueness from above their grey, rain-laden shrouds that hugged the summer landscape over night.

A warm westerly wind waves the oak branches above me, pushing eastwards to leave a dampened earth that begins to give up its moisture to the warming breath of air.

Grasses and cow parsley, with seed-heads gold and blackening brown, fill the verges and bow to the promising sun.

A slow slug delights on the dampness of a carpet of dying grass.

Wren, skylark, crow, yellowhammer, tits and others give their song to that of the breeze and a distant, high up plane.

Hover flies dart and zigzag around the grasses and black flies buzz their presence in an instant.

The golden barley, with down-turned heads and long fragile awns will soon be food for the growling combine. I hold and smell their presence, soon to dry to golden treasure, or so the farmer hopes.

The hedges, trees and woods are now an almost uniform deep green - like the single colour upon an artist's palette with just the shadows and highlights in separate tones. The greens are merging; the flowering plants are merging into their golds and browns. The highlight of summer is the culmination of the flowering season - diversity becomes one in the processes of post-flowering and seed-setting. Softness of growth becomes hardness of seed and brittle stems. This is a time of preparation and formation, an awaiting of the harvest of fruit and seed.

Purple is all around me in the subtle light that waits the full sunlight that will later bathe the land: blackberry flowers, hogweed seedheads, goosegrass seeds and leaves, thistle flowers and rosebay willowherb.

Birthplace

A few days ago I found myself driving along a Worcestershire hilltop and then turning into a small country lane that would take me down a steep road towards the farm where I was born.

I hadn't been back for a few years and it was a hugely emotional moment as memories of my childhood came flooding back. I had my daughter with me and it was the first time I had taken her there. After a good descent the road levels out at the farm to give superb views over towards Clee Hill that rises majestically from the distant Teme Valley and Tenbury Wells. The valley bottom is still much further on but here is a tiny hamlet here of one working farm, a chapel, a few houses and our 'farm'. The surrounding fields, mostly taken over by surrounding farms, now probably have little memory of the acres of apple trees that once stood on this quiet hillside. Although the house has been altered and the surrounding buildings are used for domestic/office uses or to stable horses, the essence of the place is still there. The first nine or so years of my life where spent in the great farmhouse and in the surrounding fields. Such freedom I then had to play and explore and to be part of the local farming community.

It is a life that seems so distant now. We all have to move on. Time does not hold us captive to anything but our thoughts and memories. We are transient in so many ways. I cannot relive my past. I can only experience the present in the context of past experiences. The farm was my birthplace, literally, and my formative childhood. It held me through those early experiences that made me who I am today. My journeying this year seems to be taking me to places that are emotionally thoughtful, longing for change/development and, hopefully, taking me to a more mature awareness of my path. Going back to my 'home' area is always a struggle emotionally as I seem to have a deep attachment to that part of the world. I probably have my father to blame for that! I feel as though I want to draw upon the energy it gives me, but I am not sure how to do that, or if it is right. It is a creative energy of poetry, art, growing/farming, landscape, growth, nature, and belonging. It can be easy to wish that some parts of life had been different and that we could choose an 'alternative universe', but we know we can't. I am here today, where I am, because that is how things are. How I face the future, that I can change or influence.

Visiting the farm was hard - perhaps I feel a deep sense of grief - but it was enlightening in a positive way. It gave me a sense of energy that if I want to change, I have to initiate it. I can't hang on to the past but I have to ensure that when all my 'presents' fade into the past, they enhance my memories and soul in a way that will make me feel that I have achieved something.

The Hovering Kestrel

I watched a Kestrel this morning. It was a warm and sunny morning and I had just entered a smallish field of rough meadow - full of tall grasses and flowers/plants. A kestrel hovered not far away. High above the field, at about tree top level, it was facing the oncoming warm breeze and making continual fine adjustments with the delicate fluttering of its wings. It would glide to a new location, hover, survey the ground below then move on a little. Then it would sweep back over the field to begin a new transect and begin its search from a new location. I watched it for around ten minutes before it moved away to perch in the nearby trees.

Is there a lesson an patience and perseverance here I wonder?

On reading a little on the web I discover that although hovering requires more energy than, say, gliding it can be more productive food wise. Apparently they can see into the ultra-violet which makes tracking the urine trails of their favourite food, the field vole, easier.

Song of a Robin

A robin sang beside me one recent evening, its song filling the cool, still and darkening air. Why, my friend, do you sing so close to me? Surely you can see me just a few feet away writing in my sketchbook, whilst you sing your presence from atop the trampoline safety net? You have chosen that spot from which to give the garden your song this evening. Your tuneful phrases weave through the other sounds that I notice: the sound of traffic, the rumble of aeroplanes at the airport, dogs barking, the songs of other birds in the neighbourhood, the subdued deep thump, thump of next door's party music and the chattering conversation of friends among friends.

I hardly noticed you at first, but now I am aware of you. Your song was almost too loud and sharp for me to focus upon, but now I welcome you as your presence seems almost incompatible with the man-made sounds of man in the landscape. But then you choose to depart, to leave your perch and head for the top of a nearby tree; and then you are gone. You gave me a moment of peace and otherness that only nature can bring. You leave me a memory that lingers on amongst the other discordent sounds of the evening.

Bracken

The woodland floor is damp from the morning rain. The soft mass of leaf litter and other decaying organic matter forms a cool carpet beneath the tall oaks. I sit facing a small clearing and look out over the tall bracken that arises from the earth and uncurls towards the sky. Its dark green stems rise straight up with large fronds branching out horizantally. The apex is formed by a tight mass of intricately curled up new growth that will rapidly unwrap into the woodland space. Now, at around 4ft tall, this mass of strong verticals contrasts with the diagonals and horizantals of nearby bramble plants which tangle through the field layer. These are perennial whereas the bracken will entirely die down to soil level at the end of each year.

I look more closely at the bracken stems. I did down into the deep leaf litter, and see where it arises from an bulbous part of the rhizome that reaches throughout, and deep into, the woodland floor. There can be a sizeable amount of the plant buried beneath the surface and we see only a superficial part of it. I break open one of the main stems. It is tough and can easily cut the skin. There It is made up of many large strong fibers which separate to reveal a thick syrupy sap that covers my fingers. There must be a large amount of moisture held within these young plants. Some of last years decaying stems are still standing and these are now dry and brittle and can easily be crushed in my fingers.

The large flat and spreading fronds begin to shade all the woodland floor - taking advantage of the available light before the leaf canopy fully forms above them. The fronds have a strong mid stem and then the soft and delicate parts of the leaf reach outwards. They are beautiful to touch. The outer edges of the fronds are a more yellowy green than the main parts of the frond. They are almost like huge feathers.

Bracken always feels cool and has a wonderful fragrance. I wonder what ecological value they have. I do some research on the internet at home and find out more details that I'm not going to repeat here.

They are plants of strength and beauty but, like the bramble, they persevere, they compete, they dominate and form an important part of the ecology where they are present by changing both micro and macro habitats in may ways. Here they will significantly add to the biomass of the woodland and through their decay will add to the organic matter in the ground layer. It has no predators and so is a great coloniser where conditions are right.