Forces of Nature – The Wild Wind

Just sharing my passion for the wind today and a quick snapshot of the effects of the wind whipping up the dead grasses, flinging them against the wire fencing. Where they catch the wire they wave frantically, a real joy to watch. Ah the simple things in life.

With a constant wind speed of F7 to F8 which is between 32-46 mile per hour (51-75 km/h) and gusts coming thick and fast as strong as F9, it really is not too bad out there. I can just about make out the sea in the greyness. If it wasn’t for the white horses galloping across its turbulent surface, I wouldn’t know the sea was even out there. Still it is a much nicer wind than in the winter months, then it comes in with such ferocity and an almost violent edge, you can feel the damage that could occur as it hits hard anything in its path. It comes with a bite too, a sharp maddening bite that reaches to your core.

Today though, it is powerful, in a gentler way. Softly pushing you over, almost playfully, rather than just flattening you. The Spring winds. There is a softened, almost rounded edge to it too and a tinge of warmth, a hint that the winter may actually be over with for this year.

I love the wind, Spring Summer Autumn Winter, no matter what the season. Each has its own personality, a general behavioural pattern, even though each time it revisits it has a slightly different edge on its return.

You won’t catch me out though. I can read you loud and clear and I still love you no matter how you show up.

JOURNEY – Physical and Emotional with a Profound Effect

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Journey.”

When I was child of about 3, we lived in a tiny village that had only one shop. It seemed miles from anywhere but my cousin, she lived just around the corner and around the next bend on the same country lane lived Grandma and Grandad. For some reason I wasn’t over keen on Grandad, but I adored my Grandma. She was such a loving person and I really enjoyed being with her. I was allowed to ride my tricycle along the pavement, all on my own to visit them.

It was a delightful place to live, surrounded by wildlife, farms and an abundance of greenery. We took regular walks thoroughly indulging in the effect of the changing seasons. To this day I have a similar passion for nature, the countryside and the seasons.

We would watch the butterflies dance from flower to flower, noting which one it was and if we weren’t sure, we’d look it up in a book when we returned home. We’d breathe in the scents of the blossoms on the hedgerows, trees and the wild flowers in the grass verges. I was renowned for sticking my nose into flowers.

There was always something riveting to watch or exciting to explore. Many of the fields roundabout had small ponds in them. Here we would sit for hours just watching the dragonflies dance from reed to reed, or watch the pond skater insects whizzing over the water’s surface or catch newts with our nets, putting them into a jar so that we could get a better look at them. We would always put them back into the pond before going home. Other times we would keep a watch out for calves or lambs being born, watch the farmer plough a field or bale hay.

Big cousins would come to visit quite regularly, cycling all the way from their village miles away and we would ride our bikes or play ball games and drink cordial, something that was only available when visitors came. We were rarely indoors and my selective memory can only recall rain in April, though we must have had days when it poured.

Then one day, which for me seemed quite out of the blue, we were moving. A giant green lorry with a cavernous space at the back was taking all our belongings and we were going to live somewhere else. I can only remember horror. All the things I would be leaving behind. My Grandma would be miles away, how I would miss my dear loving Grandma. And my cousins, I would have no friends to play with.

When we arrived at our new house, it was on a straight main road and it felt as if it were on another continent. Being a new house it didn’t have the old established gardens around it so it felt barren. The whole place felt empty, the whole area felt empty. Where was the greenery?

There was a big hedge over on the other side of the road and there were some big trees but the cosseted feeling of the old village which just oozed greenery, was non-existent in this strange place.

I was told not to make a fuss, I would make friends. There was a girl next door that I was encouraged to play with, but a part of me didn’t like the feel of her. I started school and began to make some friends but somehow they never felt like the deep comradeship I had had with my cousins. My only saving grace from living in that very empty feeling place was that at the weekends my dad and I would go for long walks along the riverbank or the canal and we would observe all the bounty that nature had to offer. Those days were like heaven on earth.

One of the things that sticks in my mind was the feeling of isolation, I felt as if I was ‘out on my own’ and despite having moved from a verdant green village, I felt separated most strongly from my beloved sea. Now we didn’t live by the sea but we were probably only a couple of miles from the sea as the crow flies and less than an hour away by train in those days and whilst I have no recollection of being at the seaside when the sun went down, I can clearly remember sitting in my bedroom with my head poking through the curtains, watching the sun going down behind the hedgerow across the road and wondering just how many miles away the sea was and how I yearned to be near it. This has stayed with me ever since and must have had such a profound effect on me that I now live right by the sea and would have it no other way.

Writing 101 Day 8 – Death to Adverbs and What a Joy in Doing So

As I perch on a dry mossy boulder, my feet buried in the softness of the field grass’s new spring growth, I indulge in the sun’s increasing warmth as it climbs towards its daily peak. As the gentle breeze brushes the longer grasses of last year’s growth, they tickle my ankles, making me giggle and fidget on my boulder. The breeze pauses a moment, as if taking in a gentle breath. In the silence I can hear the distant cry of the buzzard, its sound sends a ripple of shivers along my spine and outwards, through my skin, making my skin feel as though it is moving and shrinking in a pleasing vibrant way.

I can just detect a hint of a smell wafting up from the west towards me, the aroma of the salt of the sea on the breeze, tickling the inside of my nose, tempting me to leave my soft mossy perch for a wander down to the shore.

I contemplate this moment of thought and decide, I want to continue indulging in nature’s endless array of experiences from this perspective, just for now.

Maybe later, there is so much to absorb just being here, now, in this precious moment.

Writing 101 DAY 3 – Commit To a Writing Practice

Today’s prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

At the mere mention of ‘song’, it conjures up bird song and the dawn chorus. I simply adore waking to the sound of the birds, so vibrant with energy and enthusiasm for another day. I think it must be absolutely wonderful to be able to live life with such simplicity. There are numerous particular birds whose song is music to my ears. I love the sound of the skylark, its wings fluttering away as it soars high in the sky, so far up you can barely see it. It conjures up warm sunny summer days, the gentleness of the breeze as it caresses my exposed skin which just indulges in its own freedom. Freedom from those many layers of clothing that stifled the life out of it during the long winter months. The skylark for me symbolises freedom, liberation and self-expansion, a time with space to stretch and expand into the warmth of the sunshine around me.

My other song is the song of the wind. I love the sound of the wind as it plays tunes through obstacles. I live in a windy place and it is amazing just listening to the different sounds. You get used to the type of wind by the noise it makes. During the winter it can sound angry and ferocious as it hits the windows and the sound of the glass tinkling as it flexes with the force upon it. Any exposed edge will make a tune, a hum or a howl, a fluttering or a whine. In the summer months I lie in the long grass with the insects and just feel the gentleness of the breeze as it moves over me. Sometimes it feels like it has come along to play, teasing me as it creeps up on me and then quickly disappears. I can feel it but I cannot touch it. I listen for every change in tone as it moves through the grasses, gently whispering, telling me stories of ancient tales.

My third song is the song of the sea. How I have cherished the times I have spent sat in the lee of the wind drinking in the sounds of the water moving over the stones. For me it was a place of sanctuary, a retreat, a place of calm serenity. The movement of water over the rocks and pebbles felt like it was washing my troubles and as each wave retreated, the pitch of the sound made me tingle with energy all over. This was a place to contemplate but not to think. The sounds interrupted any though but seemed to encourage gentle contemplation.

So my ideal heaven would be lying of a large warm boulder on a rocky seashore, indulging in the sensation of the warm whispering summer breeze whilst listening to the songs of the skylark the sea.