Something about being away in the blissful isolation of the countryside sparks my creativity. Maybe it’s the views, less pressure, more time? or maybe just habit. Whatever it is I’m glad, here’s my meandering scribblings from the past few days.
Sunday 16th May
I’m sitting in the dining room eating crunch creams and enjoying a good cup of tea. Currently thinking about where to go for a stroll, just a small one, as we’ve been driving for too long. Winding ‘roads’ lead up to the place, some so steep second gear is the only way to get up. I spotted a pied flycatcher on the tiny track to the house, its belly a flash of white. The cottage bungalow is cosy, if a little dated, faded linoleum floors, unfashionably mismatched furniture, plywood doors and a toaster that only works when you hold the presser down. But the beds are comfy and the view is stunning. Sheep and their lambs punctuate rolling hills and steep valleys.
We decided on a stroll along the beach. Dark and gloomy toward the land, bright with yellows and blues toward the sea. Gulls, too big and too loud, swept overhead, too close by far. The sea roars. Constant surging and crashing. salty wind, fresh and familiar. colourful houses, with fences made of driftwood.
Monday 17th May
Returned from Dolgoch falls. If there’s a more soothing place, I don’t know it. Rowan, Sycamore, Birch and Holly, but Oak was king. Moss and wild garlic all about the ground, broken stone steps and slate across rivulets of fast running water. The waterfall’s roar, but not like the sea. Each turn or ascent brings a different rhythm. White waters settle to a still pond, then a brook and once again to a rolling cascade. I wrote at the top of the falls, no pen and paper, so the phone had to do. a quick two hundred words siting in the shade of a sycamore tree.
Tuesday 18th May
It’s been a lazy and slow morning, movement doesn’t come easy. My book eats up time, small chapters, one after the other, keep me bound up in its world. It’s lunchtime soon, an entire morning vanished into the sounds of rain and birdsong.
I found a book to sketch from. Reader’s Digest field guide to the trees and shrubs of Britain. I’ve drawn a Crab Apple trunk, dark brown, finely cracked into small square plates and a Stone Pine trunk red-brown with deep fissure dividing large plates. I’m listened to a podcast while my husband paints and I draw the creamy white flowers and autumnal red berries of a Whitebeam. Occasionally I look out the window to see the lambs, they love to headbutt things, a telegraph pole, the ground, each other. Tiny fluffy things with sturdy little heads.
Thanks for reading, perhaps there will be more later in the week, for now I shall rest and watch the lambs gambolling about the fields
So far This week I wrote 652 words