caralockhartsmith

stories and illustration

Trimontium in January

Trimontium

February 2, 2015 Posted by | Art, Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Looking Towards Cornhill

lookingtowardscornill2

To me  the light in this photograph reminds me of the background to a 19th Century landscape painting, apart from the bright yellow patches of oilseed rape. The brilliant yellow of the rape is given a blueish tinge by distance, but still maintains the acidity of its yellow, so different from the colour of wheat or barley. The earth here is chestnut colour when it is turned over, and at this time of year the Cheviots on the horizon appear in a variety of delicate blues.

looking twards Ccornhill3

 

 

 

 

 

April 29, 2014 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cheviots and a Yellow Field

yellow field

Even driving in the car, with the windows closed, one can smell that rank, sweet, pervasive scent of the oilseed rape. He said to me: “I wonder what Van Gogh would have made of these fields,” just at the same time I was wondering the same thing. Nothing as yellow as this, bad for the breathing, but astonishing to look at (through itchy eyes).

April 24, 2014 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Borders Fields, Cheviot Hills

hills and fields

Another view of the hills, seen from the path that runs along the edge of the Hirsel.  Walked for miles yesterday, through woodland, past fields, and then along by the Hirsel lake, where I sat in The Hide watched coots and mallards and geese; then walked back down the wide road that leads back to Coldstream itself. I knew I was going to be late back, not allowing myself to be misled by the Golf Clubhouse Clock, which hasn’t yet been put on an hour to fit in with the end of Daylight Saving. The evenings are so much lighter now, I keep forgetting that the winter is over. That patch of snow on the hills has almost disappeared.

April 6, 2014 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Snow on the Hills

a snow on hills

The Borders sometimes has Spring so late it is hardly recognisable before the wild roses arrive; however, this year has been balmy almost throughout the winter, with only a few days of rain and blustery wind.  Only on the hilltops is there any snow, it lies there thin as a sifting of icing sugar, with above it that layer of white cloud that seems to hang there most of the day, quite unrelated to the rest of the sky.

February 12, 2014 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Christmas: Morning, Tweed River

DSCN3525

December 26, 2013 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Borders, Sundown, First Days of Winter

asunset5

The light of the sun seems to burn into the dark horizon like an acetylene torch.  The lens picked this up: when I looked towards the sun, all I could see was a bright blur which seemed to fill the edge of the sky and muzzled out the line of the hills. I suppose this should be called a winter sky now, as the year turns towards its end.

December 1, 2013 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Tweed River, November

alen28

November 19, 2013 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Before They Fall III

aleaf23

November 17, 2013 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Smoke, Fields, Fires in the Past

Smoke, Fields, River Tweed

I thought this smoke was mist over the hills, but as I got higher up Nun’s Walk I could see that it was a fire lit in the fields beyond the Lees. There is little burning in autumn these days, but one sees thin wisps coming up from gardens here and there. My husband once managed to make half of Coldstream totally disappear in clouds of smoke when he burnt a felled tree – but that was long ago. and far away. My father once lit a little fire in April, in the Middle Marches, when the wind had dried everything up, even the moss on the walls. Fire took hold, and started speeding towards the forestry, burning in all directions as fires do.  My father, with his trousers not hitched up properly as per usual, was trying to put out the fire with water from the stream carried in the top of an old fashioned lawnmower.  He called me to help, but I was standing at an upper window and had a bird’s-eye view of what was going on – so I immediately phoned the Fire Brigade, who eventually turned up, not exactly hotfoot, from Longtown.  Two fire engines.  They arrived as the fire just hit the edge of the forestry, having burnt an entire field of scrub. My father was crest-fallen, to say the least.  But was slightly cheered when, that evening, my very small son went up to him and said: “Thank you for the fire-engines, Grandpapa.”

November 15, 2013 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

   

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