Today contained a period of very special moments: that rare occasion when the universe stitches a few hours together with a thread made from infinity herself; an afternoon where eyes could feast upon the unfathomable richness of the purest azure sky. Heaven and earth pulsed achingly close to one another, as Nature dropped one of… Continue reading A dropped veil and a February epiphany.
Early morning hours at the weekend have the capacity to be both beguiling and bewitching. I have stood outside at 8am and experienced an entire hour accelerate in the blink of an eye; I have stood outside at 8am and felt the pulse of existence slowed to a state of stasis, where an entire world… Continue reading Radiant sky and long-tailed tits: field notes from the garden 04.02.18
Cold, damp, dark and defeated: if autumn is a slow exhale, then the depths of December days like this are the death rattle. And yet, whilst the garden matter sinks ever deeper into a natural stasis, birdlife continues. The abundance of tits, finches, blackbirds, pigeons and sparrows in the garden only highlights their increasing reliance… Continue reading A lone woodpecker and horizontal rain: field notes from the garden 17.12.17
A day filled with snow and the unadulterated joy of a 3-year-old has postponed my garden solitude to the evening, but a nocturnal reverie provides the joy of new experience and perspective. The snow sits static all around me, lending an increased luminescence to life outside in these evening hours. The sky above me is… Continue reading Nocturnal silhouettes and glinting ice: field notes from the garden, 09.12.17
The first Saturday in December dawns warmer than the snow, frost and ice of last week’s cold assault. The flagstones in the garden are damp, yet this feels triggered neither by rainfall or frost. It’s almost as if the earth has exhaled, and cold breath has hit a floor of blotting paper, where moisture has… Continue reading A merle of blackbirds and sprouting bulbs: field notes from the garden 02.12.17
A light dusting of overnight snow dresses the garden in half-hearted fashion: enough to be labelled as snowfall, but too little to silence the world in the way that a serious deluge manages so wonderfully to do. Some parts of the garden are dusted with white; others appear just as normal. The flowerpots are all… Continue reading A dusting of snow and a skein of geese: field notes from the garden 25.11.17
The welcome sound of birdsong demonstrates nature’s continual commitment to rail against the hard onset of true winter. And yet in other places, frond-like fingers of stasis are slowly taking hold. I poke about in some of flowerpots atop the garden table. Leaves are no longer moved through the garden with the skeletal skitter of… Continue reading Defiant birdsong and settled leaves: field notes from the garden 18.11.17
The garden issues a false sense of warmth: the ferocity of some of the icy mornings in the past week skew my perceptions as I stand here, but this damp November morning is cool indeed. A solitary honey bee drifts purposefully into view, and inspects the pastel mauve of the vinca flower next to me. … Continue reading A solitary honey bee and awakened soil: field notes from the garden 11.11.17
A mild November morning, dampened by the light, yet steady rainfall of the small hours. I stand at my usual vantage point at the bottom of the garden, cradling the ceramic warmth of Saturday coffee out of doors. The stream below me is swollen, engorged: it flows with renewed purpose and focus, no longer meandering… Continue reading Fluid herons and dancing ivy: field notes from the garden 04.11.17
This is at once a new beginning, and yet also a continuation; much like the rhythms and the pulse of the seasons themselves. The veritable thrill of excitement I derive from both, is acute, and amplified: A Seasoned Soul is launched. Back in 2008, my wife and I, back in the infancy of our relationship,… Continue reading Rebirth.