December Sunrise

(Photo - Wikimedia Commons)

I watched the sun rise this morning, and I do not have the words to convey what I saw.  The adjectives, descriptive terms and analogies ran through my mind but not one can do justice to what I witnessed.  I cannot draw or paint to show you the beauty of the morning so I must use words, however inadequate, to describe the scene.

At first, a sea of pinks and purples ran across the dark sky and a red glow appeared along the horizon.  This grew in intensity and burnt orange-red, upwards and outwards, until looking at the sky in the east was like looking into a burning fire.  The sun peeped over the hill, bright gold, against the flaming backdrop.

I moved cross the bedroom to get a better view and saw the sun behind a line of silhouetted trees. It climbed higher in the sky between the two extended main branches of an oak and appeared as though it was enveloped and nestled by the limbs of the tree.  I wondered how many years the mature oak has stood in that spot and the number of times the rising sun cast its light on it. The thought struck me that no matter how long I live, I will never see as many sunrises as the oak tree.  

From the moment I stopped to look at the sky, the ‘to do’ list had tugged at my conscience like an impatient child tugs on its parent’s hand.  Now, I dismissed it from my mind and continued looking out the window.  Yes, there are things to do and places to be but I have only a limited number of sunrises that I can watch, finite opportunities to drink in the beauty and timelessness of nature.  I didn’t waste time this morning nor was I idling; I was living - truly living, if only for a few moments before the mundane took over.

WINTER IN EDEN

Another lovely Winter's day in Cumbria

 LOOKING TOWARDS THE LAKE DISTRICT FELLS - IN DIRECTION OF ULLSWATER

THE BEAUTY OF WINTER TREES - EDEN VALLEY

Nature's Palette

Sunset in Cumbria

Visitors Coming and Going

They all left yesterday.  

I said my good-byes and waved to family and friends as they left after a weekend of talking, eating, drinking, trips out and catching up.  Content and happy, I went to bed with a mind full of images from a busy, fun-packed weekend and awoke this morning in the afterglow of the happy events. I went downstairs and opened the blinds and my heart sank.  While I has been so engrossed in my own affairs I hadn’t noticed the other visitors departing.

The house-martins arrived in May and noisily set up home again in the eaves of the village houses, quickly becoming constant companions whose chatter and movements were the backdrop to my daily life.  In that time, these small birds brought much joy and comfort to me and the other humans they chose to live amongst for the summer months.  I sat watching them flying through the air, diving, darting, gliding, riding the air currents and following and interacting with each other in ways that could only be interpreted as playing.  My eyes followed them, as did my heart, when they soared up into the sky and my spirits were raised by the sense of freedom and joy they appeared to be experiencing.  

I enjoyed their company from the first day and I soon grew to love these little birds as they and I came to know each other.  When they noticed me in the garden, they changed the course of their flight and swooped low over my head, chattering and singing even more loudly as they went.  I often tried to sit and read but my eyes quickly wandered from the page up to the blue, cloudless sky and the aerial performance of these beautiful black and white birds.  Even when indoors, my thoughts wandered to the house-martins and I would stop whatever I was doing to look out and watch them.  It seemed impolite to ignore them and a waste of a priceless opportunity to witness their captivating antics. I noticed my neighbours felt the same way for I often saw them stopping in the road or interrupting their gardening jobs to stand and watch and admire our  feathered visitors.

And that is why they have been so important and precious to me.  I was constantly aware that they were merely visitors, their presence brief and transient, a precious gift to be savoured for a short time.  Over the past ten days, I watched them all the more closely knowing their departure was imminent  and every evening I went into the garden and quietly bid farewell to them in case they were gone in the morning.  But each new day, their chatter and calls reached my ears and reassured me of further happy hours in their company.

But this morning, I knew as soon as I was awake that they had gone for it was so quiet, with only the occasional chirping of a sparrow or two breaking the silence.  

All day, the sky has been grey and a heavy blanket of cloud hangs over the village.  Man, animal and bird are quiet, subdued.  It is as though all of nature, human and non-human, is mourning the departure of the house-martins and already missing the vivacious beings that filled the air with song and joy while they were with us.  I feel particularly sad for I missed their last days here, so wrapped up in my own world that I forgot about my non-human friends who had brought me so much happiness during their stay.  

I stood in the garden for a long while and saw the blue skies of summer again and the flash of their while bellies as they flew above me, the same abdomens that appeared blood-red when they flew through the light of the setting sun.  Silently, from the depths of my soul, I sent them a message of thanks and wished them a safe journey.  And I started counting the days until their return.

 

The wonder of it all is how these small birds can have such a huge impact on a human life.

 

The Face of a Flower

Look into the face of a flower 

and 

lose yourself in its beauty and perfection

Horse Talk

After days of torrential rain, holes finally began to appear in the blanket of dark cloud that covered the area, revealing patches of blue sky to the drenched world below.  The freedom to roam outdoors proved irresistible so I set out for a walk after almost a week of being confined within the solid walls of the house.   At each gap in the hedge and every field gate, I stood to drink in the sights and sounds of the green rolling hills, distant fells and increasing expanse of cloudless sky.  I continued along the road absorbed and enthralled by the darting and twittering of the sparrows, blue-tits and finches, the rabbits running in and out from under the hedgerows and the sound of water running along the field drains.  Suddenly, a different sound filled the air and brought me back to the road and out of the dream-like state into which I had drifted.

It was a horse making short, repetitive noises.  I turned and saw a piebald horse standing under an oak tree set back from the field gate I had just passed.  As I walked back towards him, he moved from the shade of the tree and made directly for the gate making little noises as he progressed.  Standing face to face, we looked into each other’s eyes and I noticed the left was one blue and the right one brown which is characteristic of these horses whose iris colouration matches the surrounding  area of skin (blue eyes for pink skin, brown for dark) and which is caused by a  genetic condition known as leucism. I began talking to him in a low and quiet voice and looked more deeply into his eyes noting his breathing and the slight, almost imperceptible movements of his body.  I wanted to understand this creature, to find some means of communicating and connecting with this living being. He was big and strong which made me acutely aware of my own small size and I fought off the creeping fear that lurked inside me for I didn’t want him to sense I might be afraid of him.  I continued talking to him, telling him how fine he looked and how much I wanted to get to know him. He looked at me with those bright, vital eyes and I sensed that he on his part was equally seeking to communicate with me.  I asked him if I could stroke his neck and scratch his nose and tentatively began patting his neck.  He responded by  rubbing his head against my arm and then nuzzling into my shoulder.  I continued stroking him and talking to him about the weather and how lucky we both were standing there on such a beautiful morning.  He made no sound but looked intently at me.

I apologised for the fact that I had nothing to give him, had neither apple nor carrot in my pocket, that I had not known he was in this field and this was not my usual route.  He listened a while, seeming to  mull over what I had told him and then made a noise and gave a movement of his head.  He was trying to convey something to me but I didn’t understand and apologised to him for my lack. After several minutes, he took a step forward, leaned his head over the fence and stared in the direction of some long succulent grass growing in the ditch beside me. He then raised his eyes to me and  back again to that spot.  Now I knew what he wanted.  I picked a large handful of grass and held if out to him to eat.  When he finished it, he gave another look towards the ground so I gathered more handfuls of grasses and other plants and stood feeding him and talking to him until the patch was bare.

I expected him to move away when his appetite was sated but he remained in the same spot while I patted him and brushed back the tousled strands of mane from across his eyes.  From the time we met at the gate we had been looking, searching deep into each other’s eyes but now my words stopped for they were no longer needed.  With my hand resting gently on his head we felt the contact of skin on skin, heard the rhythm of each other’s breathing and began to know each other.  I didn’t want to break the spell and walk away and he made no move to leave so there we stood, the horse and I, together silently sharing the warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze and the sound of the birds and sheep for a long while.  In the end, it was a passing tractor with a trailer loudly rattling behind that startled us both and the horse ran to the middle of the field.

When walking, I prefer the quieter lanes and tracks but I now often go on this road walk just to see the piebald horse.  There is no greater pleasure than standing under the trees by the field-gate, in sun or rain, in silent companionship and unspoken rapport with another living animal.  There is no need for a shared spoken language just a gentle, quiet approach and use of intuition, innate understanding and natural feelings.  The horse and I are simply two equal entities, being ourselves and sharing time and space. To be permitted to touch another living creature, being physically and psychically, is a privilege.  On the occasions when he has not been in the field, my spirits have sank like a stone and cast a shadow over the remainder of the walk.  Each time I pass on foot or by car, my eyes scan and scour the field to see if he has returned and I am surprised at the extent of my disappointment and at how much I miss him. The reappearance of this beautiful, powerful yet gentle animal fills me with pure joy.  Across that field gate we are not horse and human just sentient beings who have found a connection; something that is always there between man and animal if only we let it happen.

Time to Stop and Stare

We are so preoccupied and absorbed with our own lives and human affairs that we often fail to see the beauty that surrounds us.

If we occasionally stopped to look, to really see the birds, animals, trees, sky and myriad other wondrous things that comprise the natural world, we would not only become more familiar with them but also learn much about ourselves.