We talk about magical trinkets given in the forest, that turn, on leaving, into dry leaves or dull stones.
A magpie moth.
I fell down the stairs, I fell over in the kitchen.
"World is crazier and more of it than we think"
I hope you had a good weekend.
Late summer, soft thistle-down.
"Seen against deep greens and browns of the vegetation in late summer it appears white, but compared with a white feather or white flower we see that it is silvery, with a faint yellow or brown tinge, lighter but a little like the brown tinge in the glistening transparent wings of some dragon-flies and other insects."
Sussex Uni clearly have plans for the field. They have dug along the hedgerow edge of the field where it meets the woodland and put up low temporary fencing. They have also cut down the bramble bushes at the far end near the entrance to the woods and also cut down a couple of trees, one of which must have been apple because I collected some windfalls left by a tree stump. They are now digging a trench along the side of the current tarmacked area, ready for fencing.
Thank god for good friends who send me updates on my favourite fields.
"There were two big sandwiches of meat and the goaty cheese apiece, and [redacted] had cut thick slices of onion with his clasp knife and put them on each side of the meat and cheese between the chunks of bread."
"When night fell, I was sitting at the fireside with a fine glowing fire in front of me."
"I should have bought a large piece of bread and eaten it instead of skipping a meal. I could taste the lovely brown crust. But it is dry in your mouth without something to drink."
"I hung the kettle over the fire and while I was waiting for it to boil I fixed the table in the middle of the kitchen. Then [redacted] got up, and bringing with her three kinds of bread, she sliced it on a bread board. There was plenty of jam and butter on the table too."
"When I awoke in the morning the sun was shining brightly. I got up out of bed and put on my clothes."
Looks like rain at a distance.
First blackberries of the year at St Nahi’s.
Here’s a new week.
If one were asked to name an employment consistent with perfect idleness it would be difficult to suggest a better than that of watching a lark melting out of sight into the sky, and then finding it again. This you may do in Caburn’s hollow as nowhere else. The song of the lark thus followed by eye and ear—for song and bird become one—passes naturally into the music of the spheres: there exist in the universe only yourself and this cosmic twitter.
Highways & Byways in Sussex, EV Lucas
These photos were taken 3 years apart. This field is on the way out of Sussex University, heading north towards Ditchling, on my walk home.
Going through my pictures just now, it’s clear that I’ve spent years walking in the same places and taking the same photos over and over.
My all-time hero, Nick Papadimitriou:
“Sometimes I feel like it’s all been a colossal waste of time, actually. When I should have been raising a family and earning, I’ve just been staring at scratch marks on pieces of concrete, and getting the same views again and again and again and taking them in until I know them by heart. Wandering around streets for years on end, serving no purpose whatsoever. It’s all going to get swept away anyway.”
There is a hypnotism of form: a rugged peak will alarm the mind where a billowy green undulation will lull it. The Downs change their complexion, but are never other than soothing and still: no stress of weather produces in them any of that sense of fatality that one is conscious of in Westmoreland. Thunder-clouds empurple the turf and blacken the hangers, but they cannot break the imperturbable equanimity of the line; rain throws over the range a gauze veil of added softness; a mist makes them more wonderful, unreal, romantic; snow brings them to one’s doors. At sunrise they are magical, a background for Malory; at sunset they are the lovely home of the serenest thoughts, a spectacle for Marcus Aurelius. Their combes, or hollows, are then filled with purple shadow cast by the sinking sun, while the summits and shoulders are gold.
Highways & Byways in Sussex, EV Lucas
How are you today?
I heard thunder to the south.
Listening, thinking of nothing, simply living in the sound of the wind, that strange feeling which is unrelated to anything that concerns us, of the life and intelligence inherent in nature, grows upon the mind.
Birds and Man, WH Hudson
Tiny seeds are blowing in through my office window, reminding me of outside, reminding me of digging out mare’s tail roots, reminding me of the blissful order in nature, even in the most overgrown places.
Last night I watched bees going in and out of Indian Balsam flowers. The balsam is flowering along the Dodder. I saw a kingfisher dart out from the riverbank a few times. After the weekend rain, the river is starting to settle and is lower, calmer, clearer.
Torrential rain to blazing sunshine in five minutes flat.
The tall teasel by the Dodder started to flower this week. Reliably bee-full.