Atmospheric mountains form a backdrop to our friends’ house and village, they can change mood not only from day to day, but from hour to hour, grey dreary skies transform to spectacular cloud formations, then to deep blue skies, Constable would have been in his element painting here.
On our return from a short break in those rainy climes, where we were celebrating another passing decade for Graham, he rushed in to alert me to the sound of migrating birds, that wonderful grrraw grrraw of the cranes flying north from Africa. I know I mention it every year but that metallic rasping gutteral sound lifts the heart with a feeling of hope and expectation of warmer days to come, (just as it depresses the spirits in the autumn, being the harbinger of cold weather.)
The rather dull photo of a blurred dotted line, but it signifies the anticipation of better things to come
On my daily forest walk I came across a pile of feathers a sad reminder that one animal has gained at the expense of another, and a few days later another pile of feathers appeared…..well, at least the fox is eating well this winter.
He dined well last night, the fox;
the artist of predation,
he daubed a wreath on the forest path
while sating his starvation.
Grey feathers scattered in a ring
describe the deadly tale:
a gentle cooing creature pecking,
the dusky darkening woods enclosing,
the glinting murderous eyes reflecting,
a sudden movement breaks the peace,
assuaging hunger brings release.