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”
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”
Swallows gathering in a group for a gossip is new to me. It makes me smile.
September has gone and with it go the swallows. I last saw them on September 15th, strung along the telephone wires, motionless against the wind and the rain. With windscreen wipers beating a steady rhythm under sullen skies, I drove beside chains of swallow-shaped silhouettes hung like cut-out paper dolls. Continue reading “Hirundine Diaries”
What will be the colour of April that I’ll remember when this month wanes?
“Oh to be in England now that April’s there… “
I think Browning would have yearned particularly for April in England year: in this corner of England at least. Continue reading “The View from Here: the rhythms of life”
To walk along a harbour wall is always to walk with history
While others talk of signs of spring, I’m still in the throes of winter. I may be revelling in the birdsong and the sturdy, bright friendliness of the têtes a têtes; I may be delighted by the sight of scudding clouds in a bright blue sky and the clump of bashful purple crocus and the single bluebell I discovered this week (yes, really). But I’m not yet ready to let winter go. Shy pale primroses, shiny bright celandines and bold lemon and yellow daffodils have already burst upon the garden and the lanes here, and I welcome them. But winter shall have her time in the spotlight too. Continue reading “The View from Here: Of Winters Past …”
I’d like to bottle this autumn and bring it out to smell and savour whenever I need to stop and slow down and remember all that is good in this world.
It has been a languorous autumn. Long, slow and peaceful. Bright, crisp, sunny days only occasionally demarcated by a grey no-weather day or a day of relentless rain. Frosty mornings. Stunningly beautiful star-spangled velvet skies. Continue reading “The View from Here: autumn in a bottle”
The mud maid greeted us
on our Hallowe’en hike.
Not that we were seriously hiking.
More of a Saturday afternoon stroll if truth be told.
But Heligan appears to be hauntingly beautiful
whenever we visit
and this was no exception. Continue reading “Hallowe’en at Heligan”