Really, don’t bother reading. Only publishing because my ‘Drafts’ keeps getting emptied by Word Press. These are some of the notes I take as I walk, that never made into a post.
Crispy newness, suspended time. Sun through bare rain-blackened branches
Arfa on ice, strange noise like walking on bells.
Long for snow, skiing
Sunday 2nd February
Raw wind over Bramshill. Soundless world apart from squelchy boots. Hornton valley dun, brown and dark cream, like a female mallard.
Surprise to see sheep on what think was Winter wheat.
Pheasants having a party. Duck pond silent.
Aubretia falling purple and lilac in Church Lane.
Bulb bombing daffs up! Like bobbing balloons of yellow jolliness beside the path.
Oil seed rape flowers, snow drops. Trees cut down up Clump. Ash wands everywhere, as if secret, deadly wizardry battle taken place.
Beech trees throwing off shell-pink leaf cases; they look like long, thin acrylic nails.
Blackthorn coming out in white clouds, foaming above dark branches. Grass suddenly lush and green
Wheat ankle height
Sweet violets! Tiny, deepest Silk-Cut purple.
Dandelions and daisies scrunch up in the rain, as do buttercups. Bluebells out and glorious.
Huge amounts of splatty bird poo. Queen bees looking for nests – loud and bumbling.
Miss the garrulous, drunken-laughing ducks.