Hurtling towards our future at 1670 kilometres per hour

Myself and the neighbours sky watch and throw our wishes for light into every short encounter. From "there's a stretch in the evenings" to "as long as it's bright" we are guilty of  the most repetitive weather conversations that can be had.

From the top of the hill you can see the sea. In ten minutes on a dark January evening you can hike up there to catch the sun set over the the coastline. It's golden and hazy tonight and everything is in hibernation mode.

Meanwhile our sun is burning fiercely, sending out solar storms and creating aurorae now visible from our northern shores. After the winter solstice a few weeks ago the earth has already started to turn in the right direction, from up here on the hill tonight I sense the tilt.

So hurtling towards our future at 1670 kilometres per hour we are surely on an amazing adventure?

At this time of the year I hold onto that.

November rhythms and roses

As November takes hold, maybe winter begins?   The community on the hill and here on the lane are winding down, burrowing in behind closed doors.

Close to the window there are white roses budding and flowering, in their own rhythm. Sure they don't seem to know if it's day or night!

And in the workshop there are sounds of tapping and clacking as words pour out onto the screen. Longing to find a heartbeat, imagined projects swish around in the two hemispheres. 

Light a candle, put the kettle on and get to work.

Does it make you wonder?

Does it feel darker inside when it's darker outside? Do you ever wonder why the earth turns away again from the sun, when that's what we crave? Or do you feel the sheer lack of control, of authority of consultation? It just does. No body asks us what we think. The seasons loop around us.

Still. Tonight I can see down to the coast from the top of the hill. It's too dark for photographing and yet I still can. In my pocket this machine for magic. For capturing light.

Tonight I offer up energy for peace. Hand in the quota of long evenings for magical autumn sunsets. Take the moment for whatever it is, dark or not.

Mid-summer

In Midsummer now

brightest green and lush

lasting only moments

counting every one

through one half shut eye

 land bathed in light

still promising

so many balmy days

ahead

Also posted on Vision and Verb today

~ And suddenly all bets are off~

At first it's tentative. One foot in, one foot out. The icy winds don't help. The community has retreated. Keeping their heads down.

Winter is steadfast in it's stagnation.

Then suddenly all bets are off. We start to re-emerge, stand on corners and chat, bend down and pull a few weeds from the path, smell the primroses. Spring has arrived with buds, catkins, new leaves and birdsong.

Meanwhile the lower field has been cleared of every messy thing that I loved. They are making it pristine for planting the greenest of grass. This is all they want now, progress and pasture. My increasingly wild couple of acres are becoming a blot on the landscape of "lawns" for horses. This garden the last bastion of cover and wilderness, briars and gorse, seed heads and sceachs.

Where is the sense in wilderness anyway? No sense that can be explained maybe. But wouldn't we all thrive better if we could live and let live? Disturb as little as possible. Permit, with all our big headed power, the tiny mouse to shuffle aimlessly through the undergrowth, even though when we meet her head on we might shudder......

Frosty morning on the lane

There's a tranquility over the land when the morning is icy. You can hear it before you even leave the hammock. Everything is slower to stir. Except me for once, as these are the days I love!

The little lake is like a cauldron of steaming broth at the centre of the valley. The swans seek out the first rays of light and move with it. The mist rises and clears to the east, burnt off by the weak winter sun.

A distant tractor starts up with a bit of coughing and spluttering. The Robin is first on the scene and little by little come the songs of the rest. Blackbirds begin their swooping, the Heron flies in low against the land.

But in that first breath of the day, there is a beautiful empty silence. If you were here, and you heard it I think you would wish, like me, that time would linger for a little longer before we all have to go on into the rest of the day.

Light

The sun shone on Christmas Day and beamed long rays of golden light into the house. The slow unfolding of the meal, the unwrapping of gifts, the popping of corks seemed more relaxed and cheery this year. At it's heart these 12 days are a hibernation away from the world, some solace in the darkest part of winter.

The voices that surrounded me were clear and true. Almost upbeat. A sense of turning the corner.

During the dark hours of the last week I stole time and tried to reflect on the transition to the New Year, 2013. Last year I dipped my toe into so many new things. My word for 2012 was EXPAND. Normally fairly cautious, somehow through selecting this word, I gave myself permission to dabble and dream a bit more than usual....

My word for 2013 is LIGHT and I notice already a clearer focus on what is important and what is not in my struggle to survive economically and spiritually. For that will be the challenge for most Irish people as we try to stay afloat while at the same follow our own individual stars...

When I am living with close family and friends it becomes impossible to write or take photographs. I am torn between the practice and the laughs! So although I will miss their presence and colour, I am also looking forward to that little bit of magic, just me, the camera and the light.

Returning to the sound of my own beating heart. The mystery of being here at all. The beauty of the ordinary.

Did you chose a word, set an intention, make a resolution, would love to hear about it, and if you have blogged about it please share a link?



Also posted here on Vision and Verb a global collaboration of creative women

Winter sets in and the elves are pretty busy....

 

Winter has set in and I am now counting the weeks until the Solstice and the gradual return of light. In the dark evenings I burn candles to cheer our hearts, cosy up with a blanket and find I am craving chocolate!

On waking, I love the silvery glow and a particular kind of stillness that announces another frosty morning. Blue sky icy days have me leaping out of bed, and I am by no means a morning person!

Hibernation may be here for some but myself and the elves are pretty busy in the Foxglove Lane Print Gallery! My first year of this venture is still a steep learning curve and thanks to all of you shoppers I have learned a few more tricks of the trade. Next year I hope to be more established and to have fuller creative control over each product. I have been experimenting with printers, products, papers, processes and while it has been mind boggling it has allowed me to keep prices down while I find my feet. I am no where near happy yet with my progress........there is so much more to learn and share.......but I'm getting there and making plans......

Meanwhile if you fancy a bit of Christmas gift  browsing check out the Seasonal Greeting Cards and the Print Gallery all delivered anywhere in the world! One or two people have had problems accessing the PayPal page so if this happens to you please contact me as I can offer another payment method.

Thanks to all of you who have sent me photos of the prints, framed and in your homes. I will make a collage and post on Facebook. Keep them coming!

But for now it's back to the busy Christmas workshop for me and my imaginary elves......

Love

The swans are back on the lake for the winter. Just one pair, they come every year.

I have to go deeper into the forest to glimpse them up close. At first they are hidden by the reeds but as I step into the water they stir and swim towards me, elegantly posing side by side.

They mate for life. As I have.

My mate is building a wall. He faces the sun which warms his hands on the cold stones. Blissfully happy out in the air, away from the writing and the issues he wrestles with in the world of change.

We glide past each other in opposite directions. We chat. He talks to me about stones. He points out dozens of seagulls coming in to wash in the lake. He speaks of weather fronts coming in from the north and searches the sky for blue patches.

I talk to him about creative struggles. Should I explore a new location? Will I begin to tweak my photos a bit more? Maybe I need to alter my workspace?

Later he is on his way to empty the kitchen bins. One for cooked food one for uncooked. He is meticulous about this. I am the one who messes it up..... all the time. As he passes he puts an arm around me and says my name.........with such enthusiasm! I laugh. His mucky old hat is askew on his head. His grubby old jacket dusty from the stones.

I have heard stories about love. About mating for life. About swans who live in peace all their lives.

And now I phone him from the forest. "The swans are back again!" And I know that he, the one who holds the key to my heart, is cheered by this ordinary piece of news in a way that only he would be..........


You can buy these images here

Windswept, freckly and fairly wrinkly

While I am standing beneath this Sycamore, besotted with its golden glow, leaves are passing away in front of my eyes. A little death is taking place as each one turns, decays and falls. Autumn and it's peaceful slowing brings the inevitable truth to mind. 

The wrinkling up of my smily eyes like a crisping leaf, curling and fraying at the edge. The retreat to creative solitude as each hour of daylight becomes more precious. The overwhelming urge to dawdle and dander on my walks. While the Sycamore is going through a gradual decline with each season, I suppose in some ways so am I.

Without any sense of panic or great turbulence the natural world is going to sleep, is letting autumn happen. All the so called imperfections of these ageing leaves, dark spots, crow's feet, crumples, puckers, creases and fraying at the corners, once caught in the eye of my lens, are surprisingly beautiful!

I'm not there yet, still only dabbling, but when the time comes the best possible decline would have to be a similar windswept, freckly and fairly wrinkly one.  I doubt that this will never be written on the back of a jar of moisturiser............ 




This time last year I wrote a similar post called "To whom are we beautiful" inspired by the lines of David Ignatow

Tea break time and I am oblivious........

A short walk. A long talk to myself.

I probably started blogging out of a sense of loss. Getting older, letting go of my Dad, my office in the city closing due to the recession, the reality of redundancy looming. A day came when I found myself working from home, alone, albeit with regular dashes across the country for face to face meetings. My new office was just a laptop and a mobile phone a far cry from the luxury of a group of colleagues and a swivel chair.

An office in the city created a balance in my life. The city was for work, the country was home.
I could spend lunch time browsing for books, meet a friend in a busy cafe, make a salad plate in our kitchen and share weekend stories with other staff. Now I found myself eating alone, staring out the window into a field full of thistles and trying to figure out how to have an office tea break with yourself?

Before long the birds and I began to chatter over a cup of coffee and found a shared rhythm in our day. Animals turned up while I ate my sandwiches and I became curious about their lives and families. Weather clouds constantly changing, brought light and shade to my life as they drifted overhead and past my patch.

On these days when I work from home, I look an absolute fright! Today for my elevenses I strolled across the fields, and got wet hair and mud on my shoes. There had been so much rain and I squished along the sodden trail talking away to myself. Wet hair, red face, a fat finch on a branch, tiny drops of rainbow colours on the leaf tips. Bliss!

This is how my morning break goes now and for a while at least I am oblivious to work and the rest of the world.........

Reluctant to leave winter behind

I am finding it hard to let go of winter. Usually in dread of darkness, this year through observance and photography I have strangely, weirdly, fully, fallen in love with winter.

The sparse branches of the hedgerow willows and the brown bracken outside my window, have become a familiar backdrop to my daily life. I am unsettled by the blazing golden fuze bushes which are lighting up my work station now and startled by the lengthening day with emerging fresh greens everywhere.

Since the Winter Solstice the world has been turning back towards the sun and I need to let go now and let the light return to my life. They say it takes four seasons to grieve a loved one. Bare winter will always be the reminder of how much we have lost, but Spring, when we allow her in, is a reminder of the future....

Shadow and darkness are an integral another part of seeing through a lens and add depth to all our images.......