3 August 2018
Trains control the world with sound; whoosh and punch of air they push aside thundering through tunnels and between fields, echoes beating back with every yard; continual announcements which garble menacingly at those moment you want to hear; the rhythmic rattle of wheel on rail, quieter than youth remembers, but still jarring at junctions and points; and points in conversations which offer exclusion at the same time as they intrude.
4 August 2018
From out the hedge a scrap of wood protrudes, hand long and dry with seasons since it lost the tree that grew it; catspaw three toed; a junction that spawned three branches each and all lost now to years gone past. A relic of a season unremembered when three limbs leapt into the sky and waved their youth and vigour at the world, called something clear and clean and yet unheard and lived a life that will not go down in any history.
5 August 2018
Sun arise in the morning and beat upon the earth and leaf and branch and every insect bird and beast; stilling wind which tries so hard to stir the air and cool the space; and fails as the sun takes on a mighty mantle full well knowing none can match this power and all must bow and sweat and bend before it.
6 August 2018
Double layers of shade, one tree before another, provided night cool for droplets of dew to form and cling to the central spine under blades of grass. They hide in hope that they may survive but only the deepest darkest recesses will preserve their selves to end of day.
7 August 2018
Fragile clouds barely haze untempered by storm or wind have gathered as a team to hold back the morning’s sun. Slowly enough that these baby clouds do not notice sunshine heats them from above and from below thinning them droplet by droplet until before they fully realize they have been evaporated.
8 August 2018
Reinforcements gathered overnight enhance the cloud cover and defy the sun the show itself. With imperfectly co-ordinated vapours she slips through gaps and cracks to spill light and heat upon the world. And so a gentle dance works through the day; of light an shade and heat and gentle breeze.
9 August 2018
Cool has arrived wearing little beyond a gentle breeze and a rustle amongst the leaves. Rain came in last night with cool avoiding flashy fashion faux pas such as lightning and thunder and focusing solidly upon wet. Earth breathed quietly throughout as they primped and preened and strutted their stuff and soaked up all that rain could offer, knowing full well that heat and hot were merely resting temporarily.
10 August 2018
Dew has wrapped each blade of grass in purest silver; and as the sun appears and climbs, from shadows they emerge, blade on blade shining in the light and day does make refractions and reflections and create on each a many-coloured coat of light.
11 August 2018
Quixotic blades sail slowly in the warm air carving out a space in space transforming wind to power we can use; gracefully with stylish elegance perfect circles carried by the gentle wind; and sometimes two will synchronise and match mill to mill as in a dance pirouetting their way across the sky.
12 August 2018
Soft light breaks gently and turns your face from dark to bright; cheekbones become mountains and eyebrows planted hills a beauty to behold; a flickering eyelid mirrors dreams; and each peaceful breath barely flags the depth of lung and heart beneath.
13 August 2018
Rain as gently as it can falls to mist the world for moments; the final drops appearing almost before the first have reached the ground. A pause a breath of sun then a heavier and longer tipping of water; but not enough to wet the tongue of earth so dry. More pauses and more surges of mizzle and drizzle and rainfall and hints of turning into downpour to fade away into cloudy skies that merely float aloof aloft.
14 August 2018
Age and woodland encourages looking down; to avoid the root or the night time excavation of the ragounat that will cause a trip or stumble; but turning up the eyes reveals a dense many layered vista of tree and branch of leaf and wood; of wood that grew this year and stands afresh; of wood that grew in elder years and now can barely hold itself on high and has given up the task of carrying leaves; and of fallen wood that fell from high and hangs now upon the sturdy limbs of youth and will succumb to winter's winds and rains.
15 August 2018
Hints of autumn in the leaves that could not last the summer and have browned and fallen; dried out by lack of sap to lubricate them, their food factories have collapsed and like abandoned villages lost to time have begun the change from rich and green and vital into dry and brown and dead.
16 August 2018
Big-bellied like sails in a sprightly wind they lean from cups; oaks sense shorter days and begin to shed their acorns; some still cupped and held and believing they are loved; others feeling cast adrift as cup stays upon the tree and they are allowed to fall; and the fat and fulsome favoured ones sit still within the protection of the tree.
17 August 2018
Dazzling symbols of summer in the south; bright lights that seem to shine unmitigated joy and life out upon the world; that raise their heads and follow the sun; sunflowers are one measure of the year; from rough buds with bent heads through the glory that is their height to be followed by the long slow drying and drooping that precedes the harvest.
18 August 2018
One plant to find them and in the darkness bind them. And in the light its delicate white blossoms unfurl uncurl and open out; fragile is the tendril that leans from bush and tree and twists and turns about each stalk and stem and around every sprig and twig; insubstantial are they as the grow; holding all in their embrace and named bindweed for their very nature.
19 August 2018
Cool night leaves dew upon those stones that lie on others where one has held the coldness against another; there is an underlie within the gravel marking out its depth; shallow runs of stone on earth are dry and ready for the day; deep layers hold the water that sits dark against the nuggets; and as day begins the edges start to shrink.
20 August 2018
Dawn is cool and grey a delicate single colour sky with little differentiation; clouds sit low but light waiting for the sun to climb above and burn away their layers; peeling back the night time shroud from mother earth to shine upon the greens that have darkened through the year.
21 August 2018
Veritable cornucopia of food dropped upon the path; scat of deer or boar perhaps, not dog; walking round about it is an ant column; outside members looking watching wondering if this feast can be held; inner ants collect and ferry the dark harvest to their deeply hidden nest.
22 August 2018
Thin dry and dusty; leaves hold off from hanging limp but it takes effort. There is a pride in summer leaves that have held since spring time grew them; feeding back sugary food to mother tree to keep her healthy so she can feed back minerals and elements of earth to give the leaves some strength.
23 August 2018
Blackberries shine forth; recent arrival has crushed the time for dust settling; now small and large they appear from right and left; free harvest of the woodland bush and hedgerow; from pale brown they have now darkened and are close to full black ripeness. Cooking is an option but at their very best they should be whiskey steeped for weeks or months.
24 August 2018
Walking the dogs with strangers is always strange; they disrupt the calm human solitude which usually walks beside me; they intrude unwittingly on listening to the wood and the birds and on hearing the rustle of creatures who stilled for young dog’s passage or the sliver of whip snake. They are pleasant and helpful and willing and above all they are there and they are here and the walk is not the same.
25 August 2018
Flows slow; blood cools; thoughts recede; space expands; time pauses; muscles relax; breaths separate; lungs ventilate.
26 August 2018
Swathe of sun appears around the building; the light brightening a run of fig trees fat with fruit; lured by the bulging sweetness birds follow the sun and fly in. They prod and peck but the fruit is hard and harvest time must hold a while; yet it will come.
27 August 2018
Between trees and savannah was the lake; we were forged in water; hair was washed away and babies swam a second time, both unfeared. Lake and river and seas of Africa shaped us; now water feels smooth and wondrous and natural against our skins. And in this summer morning I swim in a lake that is regular rectangular man made and pulsing with a little robot cleaning out the leaves.
28 August 2018
Soaring diving rising up from behind the lines of stone; vultures; two three five a dozen and some more; circling as if peering at us across the valley but indifferent to our paltry presence; this is their mountain. Young vulture rescued from a fall released from mountain top into the morning air; wings spread slow at first unfurling from the body; then straight; then uptipped it drops from off the ridge to catch the air and then it glides and then wings beat and then it soars high high above.
29 August 2018
Clouds roll slowly across the sky edging greyer or whiter as they turn; fallen over the mountains after last night’s storm their momentum carries them haphazardly along; occasionally pulling apart enough to let the blue of sky break through; to show what yet might be if the sun is strong enough to still and calm them and whittle away their steam.
30 August 2018
Stillness is the order of the morning; almost an unmovement; clouds do not appear to move though their pale grey is yet unbroken; trees and bushes do not shift in space; even the highest treetops do not sway in winds that are not there; and unlike yester evening no peacock struts and strides his narrow way; only a gecko waits in space that might attract the sun should it prise apart the cloud.
31 August 2018
Driving morning; motorways and queues; France moves north as August ends as if en masse; pleasant sunshine bathes the roads as cars and vans lorries and trucks settle in to snail like progress.
1 August 2018
Air conditioning takes over from the air; air that flowed over warm skin; warmed by the sun that drives the air that cools the skin. Oxymoron should apply to this artificial air but it would be incorrect as this conditioned air feels as if it tastes of some unreal toxic filtration so unlike the plants and herbs that punctuate the real air with other flavours.
2 August 2018
Silence in a quiet corner of suburbia; single bird calls from afar but there appears no answer; solitary squirrel steps along the fence top without a sound and disdains the option to descend into the garden to look for food. The rectangles of green are lost to pale brown; a thin skim of balding hair above hard baked earth. Distant and departing dog walker calling in the desultory breeze that barely stirs the leaves; and then the gentle ripple of that foliage becomes the only sound.