1 September 2017
Curled in their cornets like uneaten ice creams the blossoms of morning glory offer themselves to the earth for one single day; somewhere between pink and purple subtle shades of violet lilac and lavender they give the world a reason to smile and to sing; dusted with rain they add a shine to their faces and a fourth dimension to their beauty.
2 September 2017
Oh river, oh mighty river, glistening in the early light; not just a stream of life of silt and sand of bird and fish of grass and tree. Oh mighty river that powers through the land drawing power and taking power and controlling power. History of humankind is here encapsulated in the bend and flow in the meander and the roar and in the islands and sand bars of the mighty rivers of the world.
3 September 2017
Train wheels grind on iron rails, iron and no longer steam thunder across the river on a metal bridge. Childhood trains to a seaside, journeys that never seemed to reach their end; decades of repetitive commuter rides raging against the soul; poets arguing over underground and night trains; and a midnight express that will haunt me to the end of time.
4 September 2017
Sandbars rise as the river drops; from a thin peninsular of water six ducks execute a clinically precise take off rising into the air as if heading for a flock coated living room wall; a wide flat bank provides a look out post for an egret, head slowly turning searching for breakfast; gulls keen overhead ruining the peace.
5 September 2017
Soft rain as Dorothy might say; hardly falling, almost hovering, eventually settling. Cobwebs high on brambles hold just enough water to turn themselves into necklaces of brilliance; their owners waiting under leaves for dryer times or damp prey.
6 September 2017
Head rises from the river circling peering as feet scrape in the thin water; shoulders follow with their coat of many greys and as the scratch becomes a scrabble they unfurl into vast angelic wings; then with a downward push the heron rises, its ungainly feet making their final upward push; and suddenly these disparate pieces become a single whole and slow controlled beats wing it away across the fields.
7 September 2017
Cool sun presaging autumn; the path scattered like rose petals at a wedding but with leaves; shades of green of brown and of yellow mark out what is to follow once the sloes and blackberries have been taken; yet the canopy is verdant in the light and the shaded grasses and new saplings still have life coursing through them.
8 September 2017
Autumn has her fingers on the door jamb and her foot within the frame; summer’s somewhat worn but clinging on. So begins the equinox dance; heat and light lead with growing winds and gusting rain following behind; falling leaves are twirled and shadows lengthened until the never-ending music ceases.
9 September 2017
Gone is the sharp seed shattering crack of feet on acorns; now they can be pressed into the softened earth. Autumn won the night with rain enough to reach the river and raise the flow; but only just; in most stretches it will go unnoticed; just where stones and branches block and hold it will the growing volume register.
10 September 2017
Summer ups the ante with a swathe of sunshine shining pale on dampened leaves and raising thin mists of dew that dissipate almost as soon as they appear. More light than heat this daylight needs some time to build her warmth; a tougher job with lengthening nights catching up on shrinking days.
11 September 2017
Fallen leaves stick to damp earth and begin to rot; once proud thistle bent low by summer wind and storm has lost all thread of colour; leaves have gone from dark green to pale brown as if the dye had been sucked out and those pinkly purple blossoms have lost their blush.
12 September 2017
Deep spring frosts come to fruition in the walnuts whose blossoms died and which did not grow and will not fall this autumn. Walnuts from this little plot of earth will not feed squirrels or coypu through winter. None will be sequestered deep within the earth, lost and forgotten to germinate in an unseen spring; no sapling will rise from the earth and a mighty tree will not spread its branches for a century or more.
13 September 2017
Drops from branches and leaves are stronger than from the sky, flicked back and forth by gusts complaining of the coming cold; gusts that become great winds for just long enough to shake the treetops and thunder down a shower; gusts that subside to stillness suggesting calm and gentleness, whilst sniggering behind their hands.
14 September 2017
Rain has been and gone; warm sunshine cut by cold wind snapping and dancing at my heels; digging at the neck and kidneys claiming supremacy of the season. And the dance is yet unfinished as the sun rides clouds to the edges of the world and bathes us all with heat; whilst wind drives puffs and pillows back and forth across the sky.
15 September 2017
Dew sits on grass with that blue hue of chill dawn balanced along the tops; beneath in the shadows droplets become drops and either slide down stalks to sink into the earth or reach tips and hold their balance until the weight becomes too much; the inevitable final fall flicking the blade upwards disturbing more beads and starting them on their downward journeys.
16 September 2017
Season of mists crept out this morning to greet the new day, rising from the grass and wood, a sun still strong stirring up the accumulated dampness of night. Wraiths creeping along the ground desperately failing to hide from the light; fairies twisting in currents sensing the day dancing in slowly deepening circles; and great horses galloping at snail’s pace across the damp ground.
17 September 2017
Chill. Miserable cold rain has fallen and the clouds are sat staring gloomily at the earth, preventing the sun from adding any warmth. They move slowly in a dull breeze occasionally leaving hazy gaps for sun to push against, then draw close again as if taunting the distant ball of fire whilst demonstrating their mastery over the moment.
18 September 2017
Clear blue sky lets sun shine brightly bringing some of summer’s waning heat; gone is the muscle deep energy that penetrated to the bone and we are left with a pleasant warming of the skin in this unnecessarily cool September. Even the fledglings in their nest stay close with feathers fluffed not from fear of falling but to hold their mother’s heat whilst she goes foraging.
19 September 2017
Pillowed cumulus like rumpled sheets discarded by departing lovers; the sunshine piercing from behind lighting peaks and shadowing deep folds reflects the complexities of lives that led to this. Sun and wind grow strong and set the clouds in motion opening long held secrets, driving rents in cherished memories, exposing hopes unrealised and tearing apart the very fabric of this world.
20 September 2017
Night mists sit and own the space between the earth and sky and as the light appears they see their mighty realm and wonder at their power, holding cold and chill each in its place. Yet as the sun appears behind the trees all that thin playground bravado evaporates and runs and dissipates; hiding amongst the longer grasses the mist pretends it never claimed such prominence but merely held the door for a greater power to appear.
21 September 2017
Unclouded sky lets sun fall in which fails to warm the chill earth and leaves the air cold enough to steam the breath of dogs and man who walk in dew-lapped grass that holds vast swathes of water; and as the weak yet still proud sun brings some little heat steams too and as it warms it gives to air the chill it’s lost and grants the world some shudders.
22 September 2017
Dull pale grey clouds offer little to the eye; yet if you listen carefully you may hear the creak of the scales that hang twixt day and night and for a moment twice a year are in perfect balance as our fragile earth spins its annual journey around the solar plane.
23 September 2
Clouds stream across the pale sky, underlit by a low early sun without the deep oranges and shades one expects; as if trails of some relentless journey, each line largely straight but with stops and hiccups, stands and questions, and pauses for much needed breath. Silent seagulls whirl and watch.
24 September 2
A vast sheet of fine gauze has been draped across the treetops; the laundry of the world droops in great folds between the trunks of trees; gently swaying in a light breeze it alternates between lifting and preparing to disappear in a moment and and in another settling and floating down onto the earth.
25 September 2017
Underneath the trees in the shadows where the light has to work to penetrate the world has become monochrome its colours drained; green and brown are still hinted at but have neither substance nor reality. Under sunshine colours take hold and establish their presence; a particular deep green; a surprisingly pale brown; and half hidden between so many things a tiny wild flower manifesting some yellow and blue.
26 September 2017
A deer, a grouse and a crane crossed my path as I drove in the early light. The deer, last season’s young, dashed out, barely glanced in my direction then accelerated through a hedge. The grouse, with pale brown striated feathers failed to change its course or pace as it paraded diagonally across the road oblivious to the danger. The crane lifted lazily from a field and crossed low above treating me with all the irrelevance I warranted.
27 September 2017
Arachnids mistakeable for pollen grains blown across the floor to creatures that could span a child’s hand, eight legged demons to some have been out in force; myriad legs stepping from one grass blade to another, from a twig that barely holds its own weight to treading past the mighty talons of an inch thick bramble; and spinning all the while, spinning gossamer threads into disjointed webs and ethereal swaddling cloths left littered across the landscape.
28 September 2017
Green leaves have begun to fall and litter the path obscuring the yellow and brown that preceded them; this tree change a true sign of autumn as the hold from branch to leaf weakens and ultimately their relationship bids each to each goodbye; for one a turn of season into another long sleep, for the other a leap into eternity full of summer memories.
29 September 2017
River is still thin and shallow, sullen sallow oily coated; leaves that fell yesterday barely move from day to day but sit on the tense surface. Water still moves but sluggish sad and sombre creeping silently over the silted bed like a guilty lover desperately trying to avoid disturbing their night-time companion.
30 September 2017
It is the east and light breaks through bamboo screens casting shadows of distant places across the ground; pretend curtains between pitches through which people cannot see unless the watchful neighbourly eye is brought surreptitiously close; and like the paper walls of Japanese houses, sound proofed only by etiquette.