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ashlymeFourteen miles walked Saturday. It was warm enough I could wear a lightweight coat, then take it off to bask on a park bench. Crocuses are out on the local verges: white, yellow, several shades of purple (some streaked as if painted by a tiny brush); if I could only breed a black variety I could greet the spring with non-binary flags! We walked late enough to see Venus trembling over the treeline, and the snow moon rise. First a dome of fire caught in the hedge, then molten copper, then old gold sovereign, finally silver. And - I never thought I'd see this - I saw the hare in the moon. Really distinct: ears, haunches, tail. We went down into the Gossies for the best view; I swear to you I could imagine that hare leaping to earth, loping towards me across that field; I can't deny I would have run with her.
The streams at Ravenshaw are thick with blooms of red algae. It's frustrating; someone around there owns so much land that you can't walk on but they can't be bothered to look after the water. I went back to the old orchard at Elmdon Manor and it has to be the setting for the folly story. A pavilion or summerhouse, maybe, half-there half-not, among the apple trees. A middle-aged lesbian couple wandering there - one local, one not; maybe something follows them back and takes root in their garden. Warwickshire isn't a cider county, so there wouldn't be anything like a regular wassail here. But I can't help thinking of a harvest out of season, out of time. I rediscovered the existence of ghost-apples tonight and I don't know if it's ever been cold enough in England for them to form here, but I can't shake off the image of a character biting into one. Ghosts and gardens always run hand-in-hand for me.
(Weird synchronicity: I YouTubed the song for this entry. Next track up was by a band called Moon Rabbit Retreat.. I'm getting a lot of little coincidences like that these last days.)
The streams at Ravenshaw are thick with blooms of red algae. It's frustrating; someone around there owns so much land that you can't walk on but they can't be bothered to look after the water. I went back to the old orchard at Elmdon Manor and it has to be the setting for the folly story. A pavilion or summerhouse, maybe, half-there half-not, among the apple trees. A middle-aged lesbian couple wandering there - one local, one not; maybe something follows them back and takes root in their garden. Warwickshire isn't a cider county, so there wouldn't be anything like a regular wassail here. But I can't help thinking of a harvest out of season, out of time. I rediscovered the existence of ghost-apples tonight and I don't know if it's ever been cold enough in England for them to form here, but I can't shake off the image of a character biting into one. Ghosts and gardens always run hand-in-hand for me.
(Weird synchronicity: I YouTubed the song for this entry. Next track up was by a band called Moon Rabbit Retreat.. I'm getting a lot of little coincidences like that these last days.)
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Date: 2021-03-03 01:11 pm (UTC)I do take pictures sometimes, but the camera on my phone isn't great and DW doesn't want to let me upload anything (might be my browser at fault). For all its many faults I never had an issue with loading pictures on Livejournal. Bright side: it keeps my descriptive skills busy! :-)