Sitting on the fence

The garden is swimming with insects. In the evening a cloud of tiny midges shimmers in a cloud, back-lit by the late sun and then the Blanford Fly is out and about, nipping ankles at dusk. Once the lights have come on in the house the May bugs start battering the windows and moths seek warmth.

The local felines are edging around one another. Pippi was terribly offended when a rather high-maintenance fluff-ball entered our house without an invite earlier on today. Fluff ball was soon shooed away. The night before we had heard fighting, but Pippi came home injury free, so we assume she either stood up for herself or kept out of the action.

The rooks are raucous, shouting and demanding as they fly over head. Blackbirds are bold as they scuttle along the ground. There’s a tit’s nest in our porch, but not in the tit-box I carefully put up. And no occupants, to date in the house martins nest and the swift boxes either.

In the field behind us there’s a horse which whinnies enthusiastically much of the evening. But I don’t know enough ‘horse’ to know whether it’s joy, frustration or just high spirits. No-one seems to be concerned however, so I assume all is OK Continue reading “Sitting on the fence”

Looking up and down

An afternoon in Oxford on my own to attend a talk by the artist in residence at Modern Art Oxford, Tamarin Norland (who is exploring the interface of art and the written word…. ) turned into a meeting-up with several friends from a poetry group I attend. We stayed on for a chat and cup of tea afterwards.

By the time I came out the sun was going down and the temperature was dropping. Mainly my eyes were drawn upwards to the tops of buildings caught in the soft light

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Low light and peaceful

When the fitter said he couldn’t turn off the stop-cock I decided to go for a walk. Better be out, I thought, if there’s going to be a flood.

I left the house after three o’clock and by the time I’d done my deliveries and postings I decided to walk back the long way, through the Churchyard and park. The light was like golden-syrup, the sun low in the sky and here just throwing light onto the old yew tree, over the Churchyard wall. It was so very peaceful and still. In the air a slight scent of woodsmoke.

Continue reading “Low light and peaceful”