Monday, 20 May 2013

And breathe...

Another jolly, another trip across the countryside that is our green and pleasant land.

The middle of May and still the trees are not in full leaf.

Ashridge Forest never disappoints -  gently, silently, she reveals her hidden gems to those with a keen eye.

Dew-laden and  greener than green, springy moss has always held a fascination for me.
As an infant, I used to collect  soft-as-velvet balls of moisture laden moss and through a magnifying glass, wonder at its perfectly formed, miniature world.

I deliberately take the long, high route; to soak up the vistas, pause, breathe and feel part of mother nature... again.

Down a high-hedged, single-track lane I make a turn to pass a house that I covet, opposite which is a brick built, empty store house; exquisitely built and with perfect proportions. Clearly a labour of love.

 Its master builder, now long laid to rest, left his mark - the date inscribed into the gable end - 1753. A mathematical plan using the header face of Georgian, handmade bricks.
Craftsmanship that has stood the test of time.

 Purposely slowing to a snail's pace, I wind down the window to acknowledge the gently nodding heads of the  bluebells basking in the soft, early light of day.

Met up with a friend I hadn't seen for a while, a fellow artist. 
Suzie Jasper, a talented sculptor and jeweller who sometimes employs her cheeky-chappy dog Jasper,to assist her!

Then home again, home again jiggety jog. Past field upon field of fluorescent, shouting rape, seemingly at odds with its quieter, reserved surroundings.

Finally a trip to the builders merchants on the edge of town. Sent out into the yard to peruse the pallets of stone and slate and awkwardly jostle shoulder to shoulder with a noisy, flock of white van men in their high vis jackets.

No one noticed.  Lying blood-warm and silent on a cold, hard bed of slate...

and I thought of Mister Finch....

1 comment:

  1. What a gorgeous walk, and part of the world and how sad about the duck.