Loitering Locally

Yesterday I spent an enjoyable afternoon slopping about up to my calves in water, in the very place where, back in the spring, I'd been lying down photographing cowslips and buttercups. It is a nature reserve, but one that a quick glance would dismiss as just an untidy grassy field. However this little area, between villages, which consists of two boggy meadows, a grassy lane, a muddy footpath and a small field, is one to which I keep returning.

I was hardly expecting to see cowslips here in November, but I wasn't expecting to see cows either. There is some dry ground for them, but much of the land is flooded at this time of year. I expect they'll be moved in the next few days.

Perhaps they weren't expecting to see me and they followed me for a while till they lost interest and resumed their grazing.

This land is the flood plain of Guilden Brook so it's doing exactly what it's supposed to in spells of wet weather. Actually the Brook has been modified and drains what is now agricultural land, so water levels in it fluctuate more than the other little streams in our area, consequently this pocket of rough grazing land gets more than its share of flooding.

The little wooden bridge leads out to the field path. It's not quite doing its job anymore and you end up having to step into the water. Not that it matters much; anyone not wearing wellies is unlikely to have got this far!

A few autumn leaves float daintily on the water.

The old lane appears to be paved with gold at this time of year.

Back in our watery meadow there's some lush-looking grass which the cattle don't seem to have visited lately. In spring this corner of the field is scented with the heavy perfume of the May blossom.

A few Hawthorn berries have landed on a rampant patch of fungi. If you think I put them there then I'll admit that you're partially right. They were there when I arrived, but in removing some dead grasses which were spoiling my photo, I managed to dislodge the berries and had to replace them where I thought they looked right.

At other times dead grasses help to make the picture - I certainly wasn't going to try moving that lot!

The afternoon was now fairly advanced and I decided I would loiter a little longer to see if the setting sun would put on a show.

Stray shafts of sunlight pierced the cloud cover in the west and made me optimistic, though I think I like this late golden light every bit as much as I like a fiery sunset.

The cows were enjoying a late snack as I feasted on the last vestiges of this glorious light.

The sunset never really happened, though the skies opposite to the setting sun were briefly illuminated by a pinkish glow. 

One final shot then I turned to walk the mile and a half back home.

Take care.

The Moor You See

The cowslips have almost gone now. It was just over a month ago when I was kneeling and rolling in the dewy grass on the "moor" trying to find precisely the right angle to show their poise and beauty. But as the cowslips leave, the buttercups spring up to replace them and I return to repeat my gymnastics on their behalf.

  

It's not really a moor of course, just some badly drained rough summer pastureland, but that's the local name for such places. At first sight it doesn't look very interesting.

But, like most things in life, the "moor" you look, the "moor" you see!

I make my way, slowly and thoughtlessly, in haphazard fashion, stooping here and there to examine whatever catches my eye. And I seem to be becoming addicted to clamping the long lens on the camera and throwing foregrounds and backgrounds into hazy confusion.

My one and only reader from Japan* (as far as I know) left a comment on a recent blog about the word "bokeh", which photographers use to describe this dreamy out-of-focus effect. Apparently when it's things close to the lens that are blurred it should be referred to as "mae-bokeh" ("front bokeh"). She also adds that it's derived from "bokeru", meaning blurred or senile!

My blurred and senile eye failed to notice the miniscule scrap of life clinging on to the grass stem. It's amazing how often that happens, even when I concentrate hard on what I'm doing.

Backlit buttercups against some colouful "senility"!

In the dark waters of a ditch petals of May blossom sparkle among the fallen leaves.

Aha, the sheep are back! The rather raggle-taggle flock of sheep has once again been put out to graze the eastern part of the moor, beyond the little arch that leads beneath the railway line. I'd better be careful where I kneel in this part of the meadow now. These are Manx Loghtan sheep from the Isle of Man.

And what sort of sheep is this? A very woolly one.

But the above (no woolly answers here) is the flower of a White Campion. The field which last year was full of colourful wild flowers has this year been ploughed up, but a generous border has been left untilled and a walking path mown around the edge.

 Ox-eye Daisies are doing well again this year.

And another portrait of White Campion, with Red Campion forming the fuzzy counterpoint to its crisp purity.

I found some attractive fungi on a fallen tree which detained me for a while.

Architecture for small insects to shelter beneath perhaps.

Cow Parsley along the field edge, like foam brought by the incoming tide. A dandelion "clock" set me to wondering what the time was. Oh dear, I seem to have spent over three hours in some kind of suspended reality - though I'm sure it's done me nothing but good. If it were not for the protests of a hungry stomach I'd gladly tarry longer.

So I'll conclude my dreamtime perambulations here.  I hope that, like me, you were able to....

Take care.

* "my one and only reader from Japan" is better known as Yoko or "stardust" and has a quite wonderful blog which you can follow by clicking on the link to "Stardust Talk". One of the more beautiful places in blogland.

A Different Walk Every Time

Today I'm taking a long lens for a short walk. Just a leisurely stroll from my back door, through the little wood, alongside a meadow and around by the back of the church.

People I meet glance at my camera and generally assume I'm out photographing birds. But a telephoto lens can be used to pick out all kinds of details, like this May blossom just coming into flower on a hawthorn bush.

I think it was Hemingway who said that he always aimed to describe each scene with a few well-chosen details. So a room with a glass of Scotch on a mahogany table with a stag's head above the fireplace transports you in imagination to a Highland hunting lodge. A bare bulb, a mattress on the floor and a hypodermic syringe takes you somewhere entirely different. It's an interesting way to think about taking photographs too.

See, we're in a spring woodland after a night of rain. That's what this lens is good at; picking out those telling details.

No need to photograph the whole tree. A lot can be suggested and brought to mind in just seventeen syllables.

I'm referring to Japanese haiku, of course. Those poems of miniature perfection, just seventeen syllables long. John Cooper Clarke wrote a very silly one that tells you all you need to know.....

To convey one's mood

In seventeen syllables

Is very diffic

Sometimes just looking at things through the viewfinder gives you a whole new perspective. The spaces between can be as interesting as the subject itself.

I like the way that backgrounds can be thrown out of focus to add a hint of mystery.

There's a lot more colour and detail in these horse-chestnut "candles" than I ever dreamed of before I started photographing them.

And far more "candles" on just a section of tree than I would have guessed. How can I have spent a lifetime in this countryside and still be ambushed by these sudden revelations?

A petite "tree" on a twig - and the twig on the branch, and the branch on the tree....

I doubt I'll ever find any of these minute cameos when I next come this way. It's different walk every time. And you'd find something different again, things I'd never  notice in a hundred years.

By the churchyard gate the bluebells are waiting.

From horse chestnuts to chestnut horses. Peering through the hedge, near the wooden footbridge over the river, I see there's a horse in residence once again. I like the unexpected shapes of the out-of-focus leaves.

Turning the other way I spot the church tower through the sea of cow-parsley - another discovery on familiar territory. I turn for home and know that if I get out for a walk tomorrow an alternative set of precious vignettes will await me. Whether I photograph them or just enjoy the walk remains to be seen.

Take care.

Marching On

It's March - and time is marching on. I've got out from time to time to go for a march too, though my style of locomotion these days is far from military, more of a dawdle. So apologies for the lack of posts this month, particularly if you've been worried about my absence.

Our local Little Egret has been wading around in the little chalk stream and was so intent on its next meal that it took no notice of me. 

But mostly I was concentrating on close-ups (and very close-ups) of what was down at my feet. Celandines began flowering a while ago.

But a lot of what I found down on the woodland floor still looks decidedly autumnal, like this pine-cone. Would you like a closer look?

I love the patterns that are revealed on close inspection.

Lichens look like tiny flower gardens when you get down on your hands and knees to examine a piece of fallen tree bark.

And here's a tiny sprig of moss pushing up between last year's leaves.

This little oak leaf has been hoisted aloft by the new growth coming up from below - mostly cow parsley, I think. But the weather hasn't always been as optimistic as the foregoing shots suggest.

The wrong sort of snow - for me at least. Although parts of the country had a picturesque covering of the white stuff, here it was wet sleety snow propelled on fierce north-easterly winds.

But the early blossoms seem to come whatever the weather.

I've often lamented the lack of quality and quantity of the street art around here. Then I saw this skillful portrait on an obscure wall of a local sports pavilion. For those of you who, like me, had no idea who this was, I can tell you that David Jolicoeur, aka "Trugoy the Dove", was a rapper who was one third of the hip-hop group De La Soul (I've heard of them). He passed away on February 12th of this year. I'm sure this must just be a personal tribute from a fan who lives locally.

I went back to the copious blossoms. But what would it look like if I photographed Trugoy through the out-of-focus branches.....

I desaturated the colours and cooled the image down a bit. I hope that works. I'd better find a cheery photo to end this brief post....

*******

Now, some time ago I introduced you to the amazing pianist, Derek Paravicini, who, as well as being a first rate musician, also happens to be blind and autistic (or neurodivergent, as we should now say). What I didn't tell you was that Derek is also a patron of the Amber Trust, a charity which exists to provide music lessons for young people with similar needs. One of their star pupils (though they're all stars to me) did rather well on national TV recently:

Well done, Lucy. In case you are wondering, the two men featured in the audience are the singer-songwriter Mika and the classical pianist Lang Lang. If you want to see more videos about the work of the Amber Trust they have their own YouTube channel. (Click on where it says "popular" to find the stories of some of the children who have been helped to fulfil their potential by the charity).

Take care.