Strolling Part 2

Over the last couple of weekends I have been helping my good lady out by taking her to a few places she wanted to go. I took my sketchbook along to capture a few thoughts and scenes. 

Just about everywhere we went I was greeted by a similar view of curved bodywork, glass and graphics. Parked in on roadsides, fields, villages and suburbs, the car was prolific. From pride and joy to the humble family workhorse, I found them sitting in the foreground or scattered across a distant landscape.

I grabbed a coffee and sat outside a cafe for a while. Before me was a pedestrian crossing, I watched as vehicles stopped to allow people to cross, drivers muttered as they suffered a short wait and seemed displeased when they were not acknowledged by those walking the white lined tarmac.

I turned my gaze to my left and looked upon a simple street scene. Within my mind I removed the lines of cars and the graphics of the shops and businesses. I then drew down what I saw. Beyond the modern mayhem was a simple village home set against a backdrop of trees and a small church. Something quite serene.

Some look at what is in front of them, some look to future possibilities. Perhaps it is worth seeing the quietness beneath and the hard work, craft, experiences and understanding within the distant past still living before our eyes.

A Summer Requiem

The blessings of the early autumn twilight fill my eyes and a gentle cooling breath sighs across my skin. It has been a while since I walked the dark depths of the Nottinghamshire woodlands in the quiet of night. In the latter days of summer many issues have sought to distract me and hold me from my wanders. Moonlight has been replaced by the glow of the computer screen and the electric light as I have made my way through planning documents, policies and statements as I have looked into the ways and reasoning of developers to lay claim to the diminishing green lands of the county. I have seen disregard for issues of wildlife and biodiversity. I have seen the District Council lend their support to ill considered proposals and statements of deception from a planning consultant intent on claiming reward from a game they play with land they do not care about. Standing beneath the clear night sky I listened to the lone hoots of a Tawny Owl calling across the still woodland clearing. I am reminded of why I make the effort to do what I can to try and get people to see sense and see what is of real value within these isles.

I place my mind away from the paperwork and into the snatched moments of my summer wanders. One country lane has provided particular inspiration amongst the warm summer breezes and clouds of insects. One evening brought a charge of hares, racing down the lane in play and rivalry they tore headlong towards me and the pack. For a few seconds we stood in amazement at the folly of their actions, my german shepherds leapt into a counter charge to meet the hares head on. It was almost to late for the hares as they realised their predicament, in an instant they scattered off the lane towards ditch, hedgerow and the uncut fields of wheat. Jaws snapped and claws scrabbled upon the worn tarmac, fortunately the hares made the narrowest of escapes. Another evening brought the whisper of wing beats from the barn owl, soaring from the hedge and passing close to me in the evening light. The owl swept up into the sturdy lower branches of an old roadside tree and settled for a moment. I stood still and looked up into the branches, a white face peered around the branch to return my gaze for a precious few seconds before taking to the air again and skimming across the wheat field to find a more remote vantage point to catch a glimpse of the small mammals hiding within the crops.

This is the sceptered isle and there are wonders to behold, but it saddens me to know that many have ceased to look and denied themselves the understanding of balance and nature. On my return to my hovel it only took a moment to gaze within the realm of modern media to flood the mind with tales of decapitated soap stars, the announcements of economy obsessed ministers willing to sacrifice everything they can to give false promises of kick starting a failing financial system and the constant flag waving and parading of sports people to try and give a feel good factor to a gullible modern world I can only think of as self obsessed and insane.

My stroll into the dark depths of the woodland brought me peace, but also a moment of sadness. A woodland area where I had once had the fortune to follow a Tawny Owl through a dense woodland trail had been cleared. All that remains are the memories and thoughts I have written down in the post Master of the May Wood. However at least the woodland will have chance to re grow and new life will breathe into the cleared area even if it takes many years.

Evading the Lampers

The events of the last couple of weeks had taken their toll upon me. Days of dealing with two faced contractors & their political games followed by nights of reading planning documentation, checking policies, finding unsaid truths and unravelling statements designed to mislead had left me physically tired and mentally stretched. In the early evening I sat on the back step of the hovel and watched the full moon over the fields and crops. Gentle hints of colour seemed to shift in the bright white light and I could find a moment to relax. I stepped inside as I felt a heaviness creep over my limbs and sat within the folds of a comfortable chair. It was not long before sleep took hold and hours slipped by with the tumbling images of dreams providing my mind with a show real of the surreal.

The mind show seemed to halt all of a sudden in the early hours of the morning. My eyes flicked open and my conscious mind seemed to be making sense of something barely perceived during my slumber. I stepped out of the back door to look over the darkened countryside, I was aware of an engine ticking over somewhere close by, after a few more moments a light mounted high on a pick up truck flicked into life and scanned the fields before switching off. I wondered if the lampers were after rabbits until I heard the artificial sound of a rabbit distress call. It would appear that they were after shooting foxes out here in the arable fields. The lamp clicked on again and began another sweep of the field, it crept around closer to the hovel and I stepped onto the back step to ensure I would be visible to them. The light passed over me and promptly switched off. I stepped back inside for a moment to inform my good lady of my observations and also to grab a flash light. By the time I stepped onto the road I could hear their truck reverse and head off in the opposite direction. I padded after them for some ten minutes or so to see if they were up to no good but they had driven off into the night.

Quietly I returned to the spot where I had seen the truck and stood in silence. The breeze rustled the crops and leaves of the hedgerow, a sharp bark of a fox cut the night air. The fox was close, perhaps within 20 yards. As I stood in the darkness I broke into a smile and laughed. This fox certainly deserved its reputation of a creature of cunning and guile after evading the lampers. Suitably impressed and with the lane echoing to the sound of my amusement I returned home feeling lighter in my heart, perhaps my dreams and mood will also be lighter for a while too.

Sorrow, Desire & a Cry of Understanding

When I first began blogging I sent time reading sites to pick up hints. One site mentioned a blogger should not apologise for not posting for a while and simply carry on with new posts. I am going to happily break that rule now and make that apology. I often have difficulty with internet connections here and when I am heavily taxed with work it becomes difficult to get time to combine my thoughts with the ability to get online. However, I always carry on with my observations and store them safely until I get chance to put them here for those who may take the time to read.

For those who visit and persevere with reading The Quiet of Night you have my thanks.

Since my last post I have witnessed many beautiful things and also seen the darker side of life too. I was looking forward to putting down words and a sketch to paint a scene but a simple notice has drawn my attention and my anger.

A village close to me has always been prone to the attention of developers, the prospect of changing land from rural use to the built environment has always drawn them. Yet again they are attempting to change the quiet English lands to a fattened bank balance and the chance to run away with a hefty profit. The usual games are being played where the developer appoints local "business people" to promote their cause or as I would prefer to think of it "30 pieces of silver". I have seen the games played many times before and many times the outcome shows the developer or owner heading for new homes well away from the development and ruined lands to enjoy their ill gotten gains. The investors recruited by their agents will be similarly disassociated, success will be measured by a figure within a bank balance and the prospect of pointing to a name within a brochure as an area of safe investment and standing. The natural history and importance of the rural lands can so often take second place.

Once again I find myself looking into the planning policies and guidance to put together a reasoned argument to stand in the way of such greed. As always I will do my best, there are many creatures and existences unable to stand up and make themselves heard in such an arena so I will do what I can to let them speak through me. I only wish more people would see such things and have such considerations.

No doubt I will take the time to update things here as time passes. I hope you find a quiet peace and stability where you are and are away from such matters.

Fond regards

Owl

Enraptured in the Solstice

The long evenings around the time of the summer solstice have brought with them a curious mix of weather, one evening brings with it the drumming of constant heavy rain and another the lightest of floating clouds high above a setting sun. Dark greens of the landscape grow taller with the changing weather and I find I am often lifting my arms clear of the nettles as I find my way down sodden paths. Rivers are full with water coursing its way to the coast and the low light is reflected from the pools within the ruts of the field.

It only takes a few hours of observation to watch how the birds adapt to the patterns within the season. For a moment I stood on rickety timber bridge watching a male sparrowhawk making his way down the line of a hedge as he set up a raid on the village back gardens near by. Blackbirds calling a warning cry as he took to the air staying low and tight to the ground before hurtling over the timber fence towards his prey. A gentle stroll later and I reached the edge of the grasslands, two barn owls were patrolling the skies keeping watch over the fields and the ditches for voles as the cruised silently on soft wings. They took full advantage of the clear spell of weather to hunt, there is a good chance one of the open barns tucked away in the rural network could hold owlets awaiting a meal.

Within a half a mile I watched the kestrel hovering by the side of the country road. Sandy wings beating a furious pace in the gentle warming sunlight to hold the falcons position motionless as the keenest eyes moved their gaze among the hedgerow and verge. A further half mile along the byway and I pass beneath the tall elder & oak trees, a buzzard takes to the air to move to a quieter perch away from the byway and the risk of being disturbed. Slow wing beats make best use of the last of the heat rising from the land and the gentlest of landings barely moved the lighter branches of the tree hiding the size and power of the bird.

As light passes beyond the horizon I find myself in the early darkness of night and blessed by the cool fresh breath of the night air. On such nights I realise I am witness to wonders beyond "better men", wrapped in realms of power and money they cease to look, listen and are afraid to walk where they may find themselves vulnerable. They miss so much and I find them to be greater fools for it.

On returning back to the hovel I sit and chat with my good lady, she excitedly tells me of watching the kestrels and of seeing their young brood. I delight in the conversation and the shared experience. I hope the second half of the solar year bring more sights, good fortune and understanding. Not just for us, but for all.

Moonlight Chords

The sounds of the summer rural night can be the gentlest of things. One such melody is the rustling of the hedgerow leaves with the undertones of my own footsteps on the byway, as we move forward we often pass by a traditional gypsy caravan tucked into the undergrowth where the byway meets a little used footpath. Earlier in the week I was drifting by as the gypsy lad practiced his guitar work, normally only his dog and the night itself set against the aroma of the caravans woodsmoke would be there to listen to the moonlight chords, but for a few moments we were there too. I had no desire to alert him to our presence or disrupt his playing with an announcement so we slowed for only a few heartbeats to appreciate the harmonies before vanishing to the depth of the darkness.

Unfortunately with the world of people there are contrasts to these sounds. Last evenings wander took me the same way but the air pulsed to an irregular and distant bass line. I followed the sounds and found myself on the outskirts of the local village. A Jubilee event was accompanied by a band who seemed largely ignored by the crowds gathered there. The area was draped in red white and blue bunting as people socialised and drank toasts to their queen. I travelled into the village with my companion and looked upon the curious mix of bare homes and those bearing the colours of the UK or St George flag, a few of the flags also carried the logos of corporate sponsorship. For a while I felt like a stranger in a strange land, I resolved that feeling by traveling back into landscape and away from the noise and clutter. Once I neared my hovel I could stand and watch the last of the greens fade with the setting sun. Beneath the moonlight I was returned to a realm of grey and silver with the sublime gentle rustle of the breeze through the leaves.

Here is a realm I understand, these are the colours of the land I love and it has its own anthem, both subtle and powerful. The celebrations and thoughts of leaders or those in opposition mean little. There is the land and the harmony of empathy & understanding or there is only the intrusion of noise of one form or another.

Strolling

A grey dawn pushed away the darkness and quiet of the night, with the passing hours the sun gained force and transformed the gloomy start to a bright and sunny day. After running errands for the morning I found myself strolling in a nottinghamshire suburban park with my oldest dog. I had an hour or so to pass while I waited for my good lady and had brought along my sketchbook to scribble down aspects that may catch my attention and my thoughts. The sketches from my nocturnal wanders are drawn from impression or memory once I get back to the hovel, my daylight excursion gave me chance to sketch with the subject before me.

The park was pleasant enough with young families taking full advantage of the warm morning to spend some time together. Children on brightly coloured bikes sped by closely followed by adults doing their best to keep pace and a careful eye on the excitable and enthusiastic little souls. The cacophony seemed to exist on another level from my thoughts. My senses took in the quieter corners of the park and I soon found myself finding places to sit and draw as my old dog meandered around. Stone steps stood alone next to an uneven pathway. Their worn and aged look gave the impression they were perhaps steps for past horse riders to mount and dismount with ease. Looking about it was easy to see no horses had been in the area for a great many years, but the steps remained like a curious forgotten token.

I finished my sketch and moved on passed neatly cut grass and planted boarders until I happened upon what appeared to be the remains of a haha. These ditches were often used on county estates to stop the livestock from finding their way onto the lawns and garden areas without the inconvenience of building a wall to spoil the view. Again it was obvious as I sat and sketched that no livestock had been here for considerable time, but as with the steps the haha remained.

With my observations and thoughts awakened to the park I began to find it a strange place. It was clearly enjoyed and appreciated by many, but for me it remained a highly diluted form of nature. The finely cut grass lacked the flora and fauna of the wilder areas I enjoy wandering. The trees were well manicured and placed, but they lacked the blossoms, residents and undergrowth of their rural kin. I was left wondering of the past and of previous civilisations attempts to show their control and dominance over nature by landscape and garden. I walked through the park gate and left the scene feeling fine but a little disjointed. I guess I will always tend towards the rural and the wild. It is there I find connection with the wider world and not the sanitised view preferred by others. I glanced across the road to a coffee shop, sitting patiently outside was a quiet and loyal dog waiting for his master to reappear. I doubt any of mine would be so restrained, they would surely voice their desire to be away and enjoying the migration of a pack. Perhaps this little dog would wish the same and I hope he and his owner would find such desires and instincts fulfilled.