For a number of years now I’ve watched the coming in and the going out of the tide on the Medway river. It never ceases to fascinate. It seems to me that the river is most at rest when the tide is out. I think it’s a bit like breathing – exhaling is always easier than inhaling, emptying easier than filling; and then there’s that brief in-between moment of sheer rest before the next inhalation. Today, as on many days, I saw this brief moment of rest and felt that in the tidal nature of my own breath the Medway and I breathe as one.
Where I heard the call of a dove.
This morning I stopped and listened to the cooing of a dove. The gentle tone, so soft on the ears, evoked sudden compassion in me and my eyes moistened with emotion. What is it in a dove’s call that does that to you?
I’m convinced that when you begin to gaze into the heart and essence of nature, there is a hidden and non-codified morality that draws you irresistibly into its transforming presence.
The dappled light in the woods never fails to move me.
Isn’t it strange how at times when you try to put thoughts into words, you have the immediate feeling of the thoughts being cramped and inadequately expressed.
Words are powerful, yet, can be so constraining. There’s always the inevitable complaint, “It just didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.” Perhaps that’s why we experience more being said in the art of silence than in that of speech.
There is a language beyond words, we’re simply not proficient enough to hear and understand it.
The colours of Autumn are beautiful. Being the season of nature’s entry into death it never fails to amaze me how nature dies with such effusive expressions of colour.
In the movie “Legends of the Fall” the narrator describes Tristan’s death as a “good” death. Well, it seems to me that every year nature dies a “good” death only to awaken again with another show of colour and vibrancy, that of Spring.
Wonderful how in the process of dying or awakening nature is always effusive with colour.
The fields of barley around us are being harvested. I love watching the harvesters. There’s a sanctity to their work. It was fields like these that inspired Sting’s beautiful song, “Fields of Gold.”
Yesterday, I was standing in our backyard watching the sun going down, when suddenly in the stillness, two birds started calling out to each other. The rolls and chirps and melodious song were beautiful. They echoed under the red and expansive sky. Communication was going on, something beyond my comprehension, yet recognisable to a part of me that in itself is a mystery. A thin veil had been lifted and I was staring into a reality, both mystical and ethereal.
Took this image along the road on my walk yesterday. Reminded me of those prickly people you have to handle with kit-gloves, like us sometimes.
We were hiking along the River Darent in Kent, between Horton Kirby and Farningham, when we came across this field beautifully carpeted with Buttercups, Dandelions, Daisies and a few spots of Red Campion. We just had to stop, have lunch and ponder this captivating little scene.
My wish is to stay always like this, living quietly in a corner of nature.
I took a walk through the woods today and saw the sheer beauty of carpets and carpets of bluebells. The woods were dark, but dabbled with sunlight and mystery. I had the distinct feeling of not being alone. The woods have that affect on me. When I’m in them I always feel I’m surrounded by presence. I have no language to articulate it. It’s not an ominous thing, just a mysterious and beautiful presence.
Nature is always true to her nature. It’s human beings who betray theirs. I have long let go of that absurd dictum that only human beings are the crowning glory of creation, and that somehow they stand apart, or above all of Nature.