The jays have stopped raiding the evergreen oaks and the willows and hornbeams have bare tops. The sky has colour; steel blues and luminous off-whites, fading to grey. Airbrushed.
The custard maple this morning was clinging on to fewer leaves than on Friday. A sprig of a tree in a dessert coloured pool of discarded clothing. Two deer browsed the heath just North of the A31. The ponies coats looked finger-combed and freshly washed. Mist washed out the detail over much of the route, but actually I wasn't watching too hard this morning. Too little sleep?
Thursday 27 November 2014
Wednesday 19 November 2014
Bargains on view
November has brought the warmth of summer to its natural close, but with Southerly winds and a little cloud sealing away the vacuum of space by night, the temperatures are still in double figure of Centigrade. More rain is falling, after the remarkable dryness of September; mists form and linger, wrapping the roots of things.
All of the possible experiences of boat ownership from luffing up into a hard tack to sinking have long been anticipated (and long anticipated or feared). So far, despite mechanical setbacks preventing putting up the sails and sailing, the unanticipated experiences have been glorious. Whether marooned on a mud bank, or bobbing gently to the wake of the passenger ferry, the sights and sounds of the autumn river estuary have left a deep impression of peace and beauty.
The estuary birds, accustomed to moored boats, approach fearlessly; browsing, fishing, calling and flying. Fellow boating folk smile and wave or hail; the ferry passengers look on with some envy, or bemusement.
For the money (being crude for a moment), much less than a beach hut would cost nearby, there is an astonishing 360 degree view and a great sense of freedom. Less than half a mile to the mouth, another mile to open sea. Some fear of course, some nervousness, but only enough to keep safe with.
All of the possible experiences of boat ownership from luffing up into a hard tack to sinking have long been anticipated (and long anticipated or feared). So far, despite mechanical setbacks preventing putting up the sails and sailing, the unanticipated experiences have been glorious. Whether marooned on a mud bank, or bobbing gently to the wake of the passenger ferry, the sights and sounds of the autumn river estuary have left a deep impression of peace and beauty.
The estuary birds, accustomed to moored boats, approach fearlessly; browsing, fishing, calling and flying. Fellow boating folk smile and wave or hail; the ferry passengers look on with some envy, or bemusement.
For the money (being crude for a moment), much less than a beach hut would cost nearby, there is an astonishing 360 degree view and a great sense of freedom. Less than half a mile to the mouth, another mile to open sea. Some fear of course, some nervousness, but only enough to keep safe with.
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