Week 5 Ramblings

As ever, from my personal Facebook page so adapted for privacy.

A shorter (??) one this week...
I wasn't going to bother but a couple of people have encouraged me, so here are my Week 5 ramblings.


Time has passed like the silky waters of a stream.
For the lucky ones, no swirling eddies, no rough undercurrents or obstructive obstacles to manoeuvre, just a constant onward movement, that at times feels monotonous and mundane.
Life has evolved into working in alien environments, sourcing supplies, supporting our key workers, and seemingly endless sunshine.
It can all feel a bit purposeless at times.


Moving through our fifth week, to many of us, has seemed effortless.
We follow the daily rhythm, the sun rises and falls.
The moon has risen, full and high, has waxed and waned, and has crept across the night sky with a startlingly bright Venus alongside.


The birds are noisier; perhaps other sounds are quieter?
Delicate eggshells lie broken on the path, the fracture line of escape for another new life zigzagged perfectly.


Our gardens have become our refuge.
The dry grass scratches our skin as we rest in a way that we had forgotten in the busyness, and business, of life before. The perennial flowers we planted, forgot about, and rarely acknowledged, force their green shoots through the crumbly soil, and startle us with their colour.


Life goes on in this almost ethereal existence.
The Seasons progress regardless.
When we entered Lockdown, the ski slopes were filled with snow and skies were wintry.
Fields were still sodden and flooded from incessant rains.
And now, we see Summer round the corner...
There is, however, still snow on the slopes.


Some say that the good weather is a frustration when we can't make the most of it.
For those of us with gardens and green spaces nearby, we can and should make the most of it.
Remember those who can't.
We don't need to travel to access our escape.


Our daily exercise is an opportunity to listen.
The Curlews whose calls haunt the open fields, the Lapwings who effortlessly perform aerial acrobatics whilst peewitting, the Meadow Pipits ascending in song, and the whoop whoop whoop of swans overhead. The diminishing numbers of geese still make their presence heard.


In the woods, we hear, but rarely see, the Green Woodpecker laugh at us all bemoaning our fates whilst there are woods to be investigated and wrens' nests to be protected by their noisy, bustling inhabitants.
A filigree of new leaves hide goldcrests, and long-tailed, coal, blue, and great tits in abundance...
The Treecreeper methodically probes into crevices and clefts in craggy bark, its creamy belly a flash of light in the shadows.


The Greater Spotted Woodpecker disrupts the chatter, drumming loudly, flitting from trunk to trunk, a flash of black and white and red.
Bold thrushes perch on posts emboldened by Spring light.
In the golden hour, silent hooves and twitching ears are alert, hidden in the dappled lattice of efflorescence.
Cheeky Yellowhammers, compact citron cuteness, chirp from the hedges. "A little bit of bread and no cheese"...really?


Assorted corvids croak and caw overhead. Comminatory commentary? Black rainbows? Clever yet cruel, in glossy black cloaks.


And the Swallows are back!


In gardens, there's a constant social chatter between Blackbirds, Sparrows, Goldfinches,
and visitors from the fields, the woods, and the hill.
The woodpecker may deign to pass by and inspect the feeders.
Perhaps, Bubbles the hedgehog will creep under our fences and visit...


No social statement this week, although there should be.
We are lucky.
Spring is firmly on our doorstep.
She won't be here for long.
Invite her in to your Lockdown experience.
She's a good friend to us all, but she doesn't hang around.


Choosing to celebrate and acknowledge Spring allows me to use one of my favourite poems by one of my favourite poets...
I discovered this poem as a teenager (it was quoted by Ponyboy in S.E. Hinton's 'The Outsiders').
Thanks to an amazing English teacher, I already loved the poetry of Robert Frost.


~~~~~~


Nothing Gold Can Stay
~ Robert Frost ~


Nature’s first green is gold,


Her hardest hue to hold.


Her early leaf’s a flower;


But only so an hour.


Then leaf subsides to leaf.


So Eden sank to grief,


So dawn goes down to day.


Nothing gold can stay.


~~~~~~


From the film, Ponyboy played by C. Thomas Howell...
https://youtu.be/cOwPaC3ZaQQ