Reflections in the Shed Window

There it is, in the background, my studio, aka The Tardis, and the poles for the runner beans; but what is not reflected is that washing line, high up above the garden, where the clothes are pulled up by ropes, and whip out in the wind. This is, apparently, a form of line constructed from those who have been in the navy. Tony was working in the merchant navy when he was 15, the boat had to be fettled and they were in Venice for a fortnight……

Portsmouth is apparently full of these washing lines..

Mirrors, Water and Reflections 1

For February, I am posting imagery of water, reflections, and mirror images, as a change from winter sunlight in The Scottish Borders. This is not a winter image, as the swans at the moment are inhabiting the Lees, the big field in which different crops are planted, and which has a path running alongside the Tweed where I used to walk, when I wandered further afield than I do now. Somehow the last two years have contained the self within a small radius. Though the mind still goes wandering.

But the year turns towards the light. We are still here. Some of us are still here. And Miss Ruche, the damaged blackbird, is back in the garden, where she has her own spot in the shadow of the Tardis, my studio, where she gets her own share of mealworms; and the swans are back on the Lees.

Winter Sun 2

The landscape changes so fast at this time of year, the sun is so brilliant that I cannot see anything walking towards its flare unless I shade my eyes and look down at the pavement. Being in the car on sunlit days is a continual movement of pulling down the window shades, looking for my man’s dark glasses, squinting and blinking. I have all my life been so comatose in the morning that nowhere in any portfolio is there an image of dawn. My son says when I was at college I got up early, many moons and many suns ago. Sometimes I have worked all night, the night hoodoos me still horizontal, but working at night, there is something calming. It is like being in wild places. One can step off the machine, somehow. I wasn’t going to write anything this evening, I’m tired, I am getting back to doing things instead of moithering, but in the evening I’d quite like someone to lift me up to a high branch and leave me there until morning, slowly twirling in the wind. Not in a knotted noose. No. In a hammock, maybe, a twirling hammock. far up above the earth.

Winter Sun 1

Silvery Tweed

Again, an image of the Tweed as it crosses the weir, just down from the fishing hut, past which amblers, by request, no longer walk, but take a side route, down a bank, along a faint path through some shrubs and then out the other side, to continue a walk along the river. Everything intertwines round here, small paths branch off into other small paths. The Right to Roam in Scotland is such a gift, the occasional notices directing one away from various paths are acceptable. People need their privacy, even those with large lands. If you cross the space in front of the big house, a dog starts barking furiously. Best not to draw too much attention. Certain routes were closed during the pandemic. Since then, my walking has been so constrained, just up and down and round Coldstream, scarcely venturing out into the countryside, I do not know if these routes are still closed. But the New Year has brought some small changes in behaviour, to try and mitigate the large changes brought about by the last couple of years. I am back painting in my studio. I am putting the occasional image on WordPress, and writing a few words as the fancy takes me. And I am trying to turn off the computer at a certain time each night, and read some of the books that entice me. I was reading two books at the same time the other day, and when I picked up one I thought I was reading the other, and became confused, briefly. Now it is time to do other things. Good night. Keep warm. Sleep well.

Winter Sun, River Tweed

A dark winter image, sombre. I am painting a winter hare, out in the Tardis. At the moment, just the outline, in charcoal, on a small board. How liberating are acrylics, after watercolour. You see hares here, in the fields above Coldstream, and also in the fields in Liddesdale. I have seen hares just by the house there. And a nightjar I have heard and seen, a strange whiskery, metallic sound, a bird that looks like a large dark cuckoo, hunched on the ground just under the window, in the dusk. Swifts would get in through the roof and become stuck as they could not lift themselves up, so you would have to open the window, pick them up, and throw them into the air. Now it is bats, some of them rare, inhabiting the house. Nature takes over, when humans are not so much to be seen. Creatures edge nearer, rarer plants flourish – hawk moths, blue butterflies. Orchid. Merlin. Agrimony.

The Moon and the River

Beyond the Coldstream Bridge, the water curls up over the weir. It is dark outside this morning, our postman told me that head office had turned off the heating where they work, and it was freezing. The post is apparently running at a loss, but the shareholders are being paid handsomely. This has nothing to do with the picture, but everything to do with this country. This benighted, beknighted country….how can a few conscienceless high-living people create such chaos. I need to get out walking again, it has become a habit not an exploration. But getting back to Facebook is a start, I feel as if I am communicating with the outside world.

Storm Damage 2

I shall visit this tree later in the year, to see if it has survived the ravages of the extreme weather we have had this late winter, in our usually temperate country.

Storm Damaged Trees

The Hirsel, a large estate that is part of Coldstream, lost 1000 trees in the storms this year. There was a notice up by the entrance to one of my usual walks saying Danger, Footpath Closed, but it was a beautiful calm spring day, and the high winds passed through some weeks back, several of them … so I bypassed the notice and took myself and my camera down the path by River Leet. There are fallen trees everywhere, but the saddest sight to me is the trees that have their tops torn off. The place is in one way like a Paul Nash painting of the battlefields of WW1; but in another way it is strange to see robins and blackbirds hopping about within the tangle of branches, and daffodils everywhere, and to hear the noise of children in the park across the other side of the water. The faintly sinister sound of chainsaws has been accompanying us for weeks. Trees are still leaning against other trees, and others have fallen across the Leet. Such chaos everywhere. Blue skies.

Autumn Pond with Alligator

When I first met my husband and visited his house, I thought how pretty was the pond outside the back door of the conservatory, aka the lean-to. Whilst admiring the surrounding acers, the stone sculpture with its Zen aura, the shells and the lily leaves, I noticed this alligator on the far side of the water. It occurred to me this person might be interesting.