The View from Here: the rhythms of life

What will be the colour of April that I’ll remember when this month wanes?

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“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”

The View from Here: from winters past to winters present

The view from here in the present gives no clue to the drama in its past

The beaches are not the only places to be deserted in Cornwall in the winter.  We visited Cawsand and Kingsand, two small villages joined at the hip, which at one time straddled the Cornwall/Devon border. (The border has now been shifted further east and follows the course of the River Tamar.)  Had I known of the old border when we were in the villages, I would have looked out for the actual house which perches astride it and proclaims its unique position in its house name.  Continue reading “The View from Here: from winters past to winters present”

The View from Here: autumn in a bottle

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 View from Here: we have been shorn

As I drive along, after the farmers have performed their nightly shearing, I feel like I’m driving along a motorway

As July closes, the farmers are busy. There is relatively little arable farming here: the fields are often too steep to make it sensible.  But there’s plenty of hay to gather in.  Harvesting by day – and shearing the banks by night. Continue reading “The View from Here: we have been shorn”

The View from Here: contrasts

I have the golden energy of those fleeting summer hours bottled in my heart but it will not burn for long. Memory is fickle

We have had four full days of summer sunshine.  Blistering, brilliant sunshine that fizzes, and fills the air with crackling energy and luminous promise.  When the day is brimming with such self-belief it is impossible to imagine that it will ever go away.  Logically, I know that it will, but in my heart it has been here – and will remain here – forever.  Continue reading “The View from Here: contrasts”

The View from Here: vanishing valley, vanishing view

The brume abounded and I abandoned all domestic demands and entered into a quiet, parallel universe

The first third of July passed in a whirl of fatigue, car problems, family dramas, unexpected arrivals, fog, mist and dimpsey days.    Continue reading “The View from Here: vanishing valley, vanishing view”

The View from Here: rose-coloured June

… an English summer’s day is such a joy, how can we not yearn for many of them?

How do I remember June? She certainly gave us a performance of two halves.

Her early exploits were dry and warm, with blazing days of open skies, freshness and bright sunshine.  Summer was splashed all over June’s opening scenes. Continue reading “The View from Here: rose-coloured June”