Thomas Hardy walked here. Do some of these trees remember him? Did this ground feel the touch of the soles of his shoes, and did the stones hear his literary and poetic whisperings as he conjured up stories and poems? Do the leaves in their cyclical existence of life and death carry within themselves memories of his face in moments of creative struggle and insight? Thomas Hardy walked here and the Woods still remember.
Beautiful post. Reminds me of lines from Karen Blixen’s Out of Africa.
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I so know what you mean, Lynette:
“If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?”
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Thank you. Those are exactly the lines. Beautiful.
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Wonderful post – both words and image.
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Thank you Vicki.
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This is a stunning photograph. I own several of Hardy’s books. Loved the thoughtful references.
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Thank you. Glad you enjoyed the post.
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Dear Don,
great photo and text. We have been there too and walked in these woods.
Thanks for sharing 🙏 🙏
Have a happy week
The Fab Four of Cley
🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
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Thank you Klaus. Glad you enjoyed the post.
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That is so poetic, Don. Lovely photo, too.
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Thank you, LuAnne.
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