1. Sussex

    2 days ago  /  6 notes

  2. Rooks are flying above and calling with a strange soft sound.A sound escapes from me as I stretch my arms up towards them.
*

"I can never read in summer out-of-doors. Though in shadow the bright light fills it, summer shadows are broadest daylight. The page is so white and hard, the letters so very black, the meaning and drift not quite intelligible, because neither eye nor mind will dwell upon it. Human thoughts and imaginings written down are pale and feeble in bright summer light. The eye wanders away, and rests more lovingly on greensward and green lime leaves. The mind wanders yet deeper and farther into the dreamy mystery of the azure sky. Once now and then, determined to write down that mystery and delicious sense while actually in it, I have brought out table and ink and paper, and sat there in the midst of the summer day. Three words, and where is the thought? Gone. The paper is so obviously paper, the ink so evidently ink, the pen so stiff; all so inadequate. You want colour, flexibility, light, sweet low sound—all these to paint it and play it in music, at the same time you want something that will answer to and record in one touch the strong throb of life and the thought, or feeling, or whatever it is that goes out into the earth and sky and space, endless as a beam of light.”

The Life of the Fields, Richard Jeffries

    Rooks are flying above and calling with a strange soft sound.
    A sound escapes from me as I stretch my arms up towards them.

    *

    "I can never read in summer out-of-doors. Though in shadow the bright light fills it, summer shadows are broadest daylight. The page is so white and hard, the letters so very black, the meaning and drift not quite intelligible, because neither eye nor mind will dwell upon it. Human thoughts and imaginings written down are pale and feeble in bright summer light. The eye wanders away, and rests more lovingly on greensward and green lime leaves. The mind wanders yet deeper and farther into the dreamy mystery of the azure sky. Once now and then, determined to write down that mystery and delicious sense while actually in it, I have brought out table and ink and paper, and sat there in the midst of the summer day. Three words, and where is the thought? Gone. The paper is so obviously paper, the ink so evidently ink, the pen so stiff; all so inadequate. You want colour, flexibility, light, sweet low sound—all these to paint it and play it in music, at the same time you want something that will answer to and record in one touch the strong throb of life and the thought, or feeling, or whatever it is that goes out into the earth and sky and space, endless as a beam of light.”

    The Life of the Fields, Richard Jeffries

    3 days ago  /  3 notes

  3. Sunday morning, an early walk through morning mist.
    My mind misty too. A long swipe up my arm from a singing nettle.

    I happened upon the circular rose gardens in the war memorial gardens.
    Alone with the blackbirds, I took in ten thousand, dew-covered, waiting roses.

    image

    Pink and cream, peach and pink, raspberry red.
    Around the edge grew herbs and poppies.

    Completely alone. The sun cleared the mist.

    image

    I’ve been mentally composing a suicide note all week.
    This Sunday morning gift made me grateful for all life.

    There are walks that are boring, ordinary, aggravating.
    And there are walks which bring revelation, walks which can save your life.

    4 days ago  /  11 notes

  4. I could tell you about the river, or we could just get in.

    I walked along the river today. I saw a freshwater sponge and an otter slide.

    5 days ago  /  3 notes

  5. I got into a secret garden. Okay, it’s not a secret, but it’s usually locked.
How good it was to be inside the locked garden at last.
I saw (and smelt) a common stinkhorn (phallus impudicus).
You would’ve loved it.

    I got into a secret garden. Okay, it’s not a secret, but it’s usually locked.

    How good it was to be inside the locked garden at last.

    I saw (and smelt) a common stinkhorn (phallus impudicus).

    You would’ve loved it.

    1 week ago  /  7 notes

  6. Convolvulus will climb anything it can get a tendril aroundthen flow like a waterfall over and down and down
I don’t know what I’m living for

    Convolvulus will climb anything it can get a tendril around
    then flow like a waterfall over and down and down

    I don’t know what I’m living for

    1 week ago  /  3 notes

  7. My Bright Abyss, Christian Wiman

    My Bright Abyss, Christian Wiman

    1 week ago  /  1 note

  8. Pin feather in the woods. Rowan berries are hanging heavily.
*




How I Go to the WoodsMary Oliver

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a singlefriend, for they are all smilers and talkers and thereforeunsuitable.I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirdsor hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way ofpraying, as you no doubt have yours.Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible, I can siton the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almostunhearable sound of the roses singing.***
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

    Pin feather in the woods. Rowan berries are hanging heavily.

    *

    How I Go to the Woods
    Mary Oliver

    Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single
    friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
    unsuitable.

    I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
    or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
    praying, as you no doubt have yours.

    Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible, I can sit
    on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
    until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
    unhearable sound of the roses singing.

    ***

    If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

    1 week ago  /  11 notes

  9. The downs illustrate my thoughts.
We all miss the skies of our home.

    The downs illustrate my thoughts.

    We all miss the skies of our home.

    1 week ago  /  6 notes

  10. Today I was walking at a height, in a built up area. Occasionally a street or a break between houses revealed a great view.It felt like those small, rare moments in life - moments of clarity.

    Today I was walking at a height, in a built up area.
    Occasionally a street or a break between houses revealed a great view.
    It felt like those small, rare moments in life - moments of clarity.

    1 week ago  /  7 notes

  11. Filthy from camping, scratched from brambles, stained from plums. 
    September is a month you can hold in your hands.

    *

    Ted Hughes on Emily Dickinson:

    "This theory supposes that the eruption of her imagination and poetry followed when she shifted her passion, with the energy of desperation, from this lost man onto his only possible substitute — the entire Universe in its Divine aspect.”

    the entire universe in its divine aspect

    1 week ago  /  5 notes

  12. This cat was the best cat.
Cat watched me as I dressed, read, undressed, slept.Cat sat with me on the bed as I cried and cried. Cat was a street cat so knew about tough times.
Cat emailed me some meows after I moved to Ireland.I am sorry not to have been there at the end.

    This cat was the best cat.

    Cat watched me as I dressed, read, undressed, slept.
    Cat sat with me on the bed as I cried and cried. 
    Cat was a street cat so knew about tough times.

    Cat emailed me some meows after I moved to Ireland.
    I am sorry not to have been there at the end.

    2 weeks ago  /  6 notes

  13. And then I had the wish for wings, Arthur Beckett 

    That desire which we all have at times for wings, WH Hudson

    2 weeks ago  /  5 notes

  14. And I will get blackberries on my way home. Autumn is no time for books.

    And I will get blackberries on my way home. Autumn is no time for books.

    2 weeks ago  /  6 notes

  15. Sunday, 6am. I walked through long wet grass with the intention of cleaning the mud from my boots, and after that was done, to keep walking for as long as it felt good. I saw crane flies.
I mean, I saw hundreds of crane flies. Hundreds of crane flies clambering through the grass.

    Sunday, 6am. I walked through long wet grass with the intention of cleaning the mud from my boots, and after that was done, to keep walking for as long as it felt good. I saw crane flies.

    I mean, I saw hundreds of crane flies. Hundreds of crane flies clambering through the grass.

    2 weeks ago  /  5 notes