A short poem:
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast.
This dead tree always looks like a sentinel standing at the entrance of the barley fields. Whenever I pass it on my way to the woods on the right of this image, the old soldier in me wants to salute it. I love these fields which have produced crops and harvests year after year. They together with the skies of Kent give me a wonderful sense of spaciousness and freedom.
Tramping through this Wintery scene I was touched by the different textures and colours surrounding me. I tried visualising a world without texture and colour and just couldn’t. The sheer miracle of course is that hidden deep in this texture and colour another reality resides. In two to three months time this reality will burst forth in a profusion of the lush greens and new life of Spring. I look forward to that.
There’s a strength in a tree standing alone in a landscape and expressing its own identity, but there’s also a vulnerability in its aloneness. To courageously express your identity in the landscape of life will always come with vulnerability and risk.