Monday, March 15, 2010

A walk

Rather in one of those states where I am doing neither what I should nor what I want.  Bored with seeing nothing happening on my blog, but disinclined to apply myself to doing anything worthwhile here, though I've some photos of a scaffolded church spire, and even some gleaned and researched information to write a bit more about it.  I've some knitting wool not yet ordered, a weekend away not yet booked, and sundry other things in a state of half-finishedness and non-consummation... 

So perhaps rather than putting off  and feeling dissatisfied, better just to take a photo here or there, and post them anyway, and stop worrying about whether they're good enough or not.

We went for a walk this morning, Molly and me.



Finally, there was a softness in the blue air, the blackbirds were singing.  I know that nature has no kind intentions, to me or any other, but at times like this, it's difficult not to interpret a gentleness.

The English people who I don't know and who are hardly ever there, have nevertheless planted some early bulbs in troughs on their front wall.  A pity they can't be here to enjoy them, but I can.



Spring has evidently drawn young Hugo and his sisters out into their world of garden fantasy: a makeshift table set for an odd tea-party, rocks and stones for an entree, and a fondue of pebbles and tent-pegs to follow.


Other folk are stirring, we were watched carefully.





When I set off, I had hoped the morning's mist would still be in the hollows, but on the north side of the hill, going down the road, it was already making its exit, though lingering visibly in small, discrete, mobile patches, too faint for the camera.


However, on reaching the ridge and looking south, the country for miles inland, was submerged under opaque blue.  The spires and roofs and roads I'm used to seeing were invisible, and the further lines of hills, their wind turbines and grain silos, rose up out of it like headlands or islands across a bay, perspective was confounded along with my familiar sense of the landscape.  I thought of the legends of cities lost beneath the sea in punishment, their church bells ringing under the waves, and our modern fears of being drowned for our sins.  It was an agreeably melancholy reflection, not a fearful one; the blue ocean of mist seemed to offer a calm and gentle dissolution. But I was on top of the hill, safe in the brightness; down in the villages it must have been cold, grey and dull, hard to imagine a sunlit world above.




~~~

18 comments:

J Cosmo Newbery said...

Well, thank you for sharing your walk.

Crafty Green Poet said...

lovely walk, beautiful mists and kittens!

Catalyst said...

As always, I love your photos of flowers, vistas and today the neighboring cats. Not surprising, eh?

christopher said...

Lucy, I love you live where you do. It is especially delicious to me, this vicarious visit to Britanny I get from time to time here on your blog. Thank you.

Plutarch said...

Cropping long, thin mural-like landscapes is agood idea. How well it captures the open country and expanses of sky!

Dale said...

Love the cat glaring around the wall!

Rouchswalwe said...

Merci, sweet Lucy, for bringing a bit of sunshine to my misty blue day. The cat behind the line of sun looks like he's been caught in the middle of something, doesn't he?

HKatz said...

... better just to take a photo here or there, and post them anyway, and stop worrying about whether they're good enough or not.

Yes, you really needn't worry so much. The writing is lovely and thoughtful, and the photos are a pleasure to study.

The observation that struck me most: I know that nature has no kind intentions, to me or any other, but at times like this, it's difficult not to interpret a gentleness.

Bee said...

You have such a pleasing way of noticing things and putting them into words. Without thinking of the word "gentleness," I went for a long walk yesterday and deeply appreciated that slightly balmier quality.

Your comments about the absent neighbour's flowers remind me of my own beds. I have so many bulbs, still mostly just green shoots, and I am going to be gone nearly a month! Only the postman will enjoy them. And the neighbourhood cats, maybe.

Zhoen said...

Spring is sprung,
The grass is riz.
I wonder where the birdies is.

I love the purple iris.

Trudi said...

Your walk was beautiful and fun. Thanks for sharing.

Lucy said...

Thanks as ever for your kindness and for stopping by, and welcome Trudi.

The photos of the cats and the landscapes are really at the edge of the camera's range, so not terribly good. The brown tabby hiding behind the planter had high-tailed off in front of Mol, who found that provoking, and was spying on us from safety. He lives with a very nice woman and a dog of his own. The biscuitty ginger was in a field quite a way from any habitation and was obviously busy hunting, so acting a bit furtive.

Barrett Bonden said...

Church bells ringing underwater is one of those regularly repeated myths just over the border in Wales where valleys were flooded so that Brummies could flush their toilets. The Welsh, needless to say, thought it was a poor swap. But is it possible? WikiAnswers says yes but adds no explanation. RF transmission to submerged submarines is via very low frequency (hence long wavelength) so there may be a link. Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell, hark I hear them... provides a literary and/or historical precedent. Bet you're glad I wasn't along to interfere with your more elevated ratiocinations.

PurestGreen said...

When I am not feeling inspired I am more content now to just wait, even if it means not posting for a week. But I am glad you got these flower shots, and especially the mist in the valley. I miss views like that.

Granny J said...

Never, never be apologetic for your musings, Lucy -- you have as ever managed to make poetry of the mundane.

Lucy said...

Thanks again.

BB - submerged cities and their church bells, cathedrales englouties, flooded villages, they do stalk the imagination. Here it is Ys, which was drowned for the sins of its princess Dahut, who murdered her lovers after she'd had her fun with them! I've often wondered if the bell thing was possible...

PG - oh I often don't mind just letting it rest, just wanted to give myself a push this time. Sometimes I feel I've photographed and described everything worthwhile round here and don't have a lot to say for myself, but I do get bored with seeing nothing new on here!

GJ - Thank you, always a pleasure to see you.

Sheila said...

Well, you're doing more with your state of "doing neither what I should nor what I want" than I have been. This has inspired me.

It's hard to be in those in-between states, and just going on and doing something is often the thing to shift the state of being.

Beautiful photos! Thank you!

P. M. Doolan said...

I'm glad you decided to post these pictures. Beautifully written - you have captured that almost sweet melancholy so well.