stories and illustration

Rubble 3

rubble 3

China, pottery, slate, stones, wood: the detritus of lives filling a hollow in the path, and small plants creeping  round the edges, and the wheels of landrovers pushing it downwards back into the ground. Once upon a time that china was in someone’s life, soon it will be ground down into turquoise dust, unless it sinks faster than the stones, so that its shards will work their way downwards.  The earth is full of china, everywhere..

rubble 4


September 9, 2014 Posted by | Art, Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Little Walk round the Lees


A Leaf by the Field Edge

Back in the Scottish Borders, I find that the acers in the garden have nearly all withered back, after their last minute burst of colour, so  I am glad I made an attempt to capture them before their delicate brilliance disppeared. I’m brewing up a cold, so decide to go for just a quick walk round the edge of the Lees, a great expanse of farmland without hedges, that is bordered on two sides by the Tweed. The river makes a great arc at this point, which is quite disorientating …

Much of the field area is ploughed now, the  barley has gone, as have the other crops laid round the edge; now the grass is springing up wherever it can manage to take root:


The sun to my right as I walk throws the shadows of trees far out over the field:



I look back towards Coldstream, with its clock towers rising up over the willows and other trees and shrubs that border the Leet, an offshoot of the Tweed:


And look up at the sky over the Lees:


At the corner, where I turn from the field edge up towards the Tweed itself, I take a photograph of the store of wood, in the patch of land where the guinea fowl ran round in the spring and summer:


This is a tree that I like so much:


Turning back towards Coldstream along the river, I kind of cheat, and point the camera through the apple trees on the bank straight towards the sun, and get these delicate murky tints that the camera sees but I don’t:


On past the fishing lodge, then try and get the swans into this picture of an autumnal waterside tree, but the swans are hiding:


So I take a picture of the tree itself instead, against the sky:


Time to go home, past the horse, then back along the Leet.  I pause to take one more picture of the water between the two bridges:


I hear a squawk behind me, wheel round, its that dratted heron: foiled again. Au revoir, heron, one day I’ll either get near enough to you, or have a lens strong enough to catch you properly, instead of just through obscuring reeds, or as a flitting silhouette.


Later, heron….. now it’s home for tea.

October 11, 2013 Posted by | Photography, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments


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