I had accepted that for the moment I can’t write – nothing publishable at least. It will pass. But snippets, fragments, jottings coalesced without my noticing… into what I would be writing about if I could.
Earlier today I accepted that, for whatever reason, at the moment I can’t write. I have the ideas but not the capacity to create anything from them. I was explaining this in a reply to Margaret at From Pyrenees to Pennines.
Margaret, thankfully, is much more prolific and consistent than I am. Among other posts on her blog, she provides a one-word stimulus every Tuesday here at Ragtag Daily Prompts. She has provided three so far, each one chiming absolutely with things I want to capture. Every week I want to respond – it just doesn’t happen. And I was explaining this to Margaret in a comment on her latest post. Until I realised that without thinking about it, I was writing what’s been eluding me these past weeks. Continue reading “The View from Here: when the words don’t come”
The panorama is surreal, alien, unique
The view from here is harsh and it takes no prisoners
I may have been eager for what has seemed like an especially long winter to end, but a small part of me has been glad we have had to wait for a run of reliable spring days, because I have been writing about Dungeness in winter. A task which doesn’t sit easily among vistas of skipping lambs and primroses, soft blue skies and playful breezes. Continue reading “The View from Here: Dungeness”
The view from here on this soft and mellow April afternoon has been filled with small and simple joys
We have sunshine. I took a longer walk than usual, striding along the top road with the warm wind in my hair, skylarks singing in the heavens and solitary seagulls hanging at jaunty angles against the clear blue sky. I checked the wires for newcomers. The wires were empty. Soon, I thought.
Soon. Continue reading “The View from Here: on an afternoon in April”
They were displaying all day: soaring on the updrafts above the fields across the valley. But now comes something quite different. Continue reading “The View from Here: Buzzards in March”
The view from here was obliterated by a maelstrom of angry swirling snowflakes blurred into a blinding curtain. It fell across the garden and the trees in the valley and very quickly the horizon was gone.
For a couple of weeks I had been musing on a nature/weather-related post based around the vagaries of the British weather. We Brits do love to talk about our weather! Continue reading “The View from Here: it doesn’t snow in Cornwall”
The view from here has been aqueous
January draws to a close. One month ago this evening – on New Year’s Eve – it was wet. Torrentially wet. The tale of our attempts to enjoy the NYE celebrations at Looe may resurface at more length one day but for now I shall say only that the weather played a significant, and not very pleasant, role. B’s face probably says it all. Continue reading “The View from Here: water, water, everywhere”
In a world of bustle and change there is always stillness
Outside, it has been a mild day: mild but moist. The air scarcely breathes: a stark contrast to yesterday’s winds. But whilst yesterday was wild and spirited, today seems damp and tired. Listless.
As I approached the post box at the top of the hill this morning, I met Peter, our farming neighbour, and his son, Edward. There was clear evidence on the road of their most recent task: the cows had been brought in. Were they coming in for the winter?
Out of sight a cow bellowed mournfully. If she has begun her winter incarceration, it will be many months before she and her sisters are once again on the valley slopes. The view from here will have emptied. Our view is never quite in harmony when the cows have gone. Continue reading “The view from here: a Tuesday in October”