It is light now when I rise, a pearly haze of pre-dawn glimmer that lets me see shapes without needing a lamp. By the time I come down into the garden the day has broken fully, but no sun to be seen, just a blanket of grey filling the sky and the lattice of trees. It is so wet everywhere, puddles and pools on any surface that will hold them, and drops lining every branch. read more »
I have warm slippers to slip my feet in as I pad to the dark kitchen. There is a slice of lemon in my glug of sparkling water. The house hums its night song read more »
The sun on the bare branches of the oak tree brings out all its colours so that it shines, yellow-green and bright against a blue, blue sky. None of it could be called brown, yet that is what we might call it if asked. It isn’t a simple colour, or a simple being. It holds a covering of algae next to its skin, lifting it high so it can find the sun. read more »
The moon is still ruling the sky in the west, a bright white light in the inky blue, and it is only when you look to the east you can see the blue is fading, a thin strip of pale sky showing below the grey-gathered clouds. Yet you would know it was the hour of dawn before you ever looked east, for walking through the dark garden there is such a clamour of birdsong. read more »
The sun is shining on my face and glinting off the snow. Yes, we have real snow that shines white and bright. It outlines the twigs and branches with highlights and hangs heavy on the leaves. It squeaks as you walk over it, crunching into compact layers that hold your prints. It transforms lawns into cake-tops, thick, sweet and smooth, but thins on paths and melts from hot roofs. read more »
Christmas Day. The church bells are ringing, a plane is still flying overhead and the birds sing and soar as normal. The sky isn’t closed and grey today, it is open with delight, brightness shining from the still hidden sun. What a thing it is to think about God becoming man. A folly or impossibility to some, and a matter of common knowledge that fails to thrill for others. read more »
Oh, it’s wonderful down here in my own little world. If I switch this light off I’m in a cloak of dark velvet, pierced by the porch lights. The moon is leaning towards her crescent, tipping southwards but still so bright in the indigo sky. Hanging over the garden is a faint mist which disappears as you walk into it for the sky is clear and we are open to the breaths of heaven. read more »
How fitting – the first really cold day on the first of December. There is a frost on the ground and the air is sharp and still; I was even cold in bed. The sky, though, the sky is bright against the black outlines of the trees, bright enough to find my way but not to read words. The birds are singing as ever and I can see the passage of a plane, its white trail the only cloud read more »
Hallo birdsong, hallo dark blue of unlit morning, and cool air, and gently dripping leaves. I have lights to shine my way here, sitting under the bare hawthorn with my feet floored by its leaves mingled with oak. It has been so wet but in between the sky opens and we can journey forth again with ease. read more »
