Sunshine and Community
In the meeting house garden, the plums are out. Apply the gentlest pressure, upwards, to the base of the fruit, and if it falls into your hand it is perfect, ready for feasting on. You can tell it is a meeting house because of the grave stones, plain, uniform, below knee height, simple and unadorned.
My friend tells me the brambles will not be out until October in Edinburgh, but here they have been out for two months. At first either wersh and characterful or with that wonderful, explodes in the mouth sweetness, now they have a soft, gentle sweetness. I stain thumb and forefingers.
I have been noticing, more, since that programme on the Impressionists. Tiny plants cover the surface of the field by the river. Looking down, I see their leaves green and red, but further away there is a sheen on the field, far too complex for any pointilliste, green and red and- blue? And purple. I have been looking at the difference in one colour, in sunshine, in shade, under cloud, after sunset.
On the bridge over the river I meet a couple taking photographs. The man is not so interested in the swans, as in the light on the water: with the sun at this angle, the ripples make clear precise patterns of light and dark. I took the photo above before- noticing the effect, he captures it better. I do not have my camera, because with my camera I am tempted to concentrate on creating an image I can delight in later, rather than delighting in the reality, around me, now. Just over the bridge, the chirping of the grasshoppers is as loud as a car engine, but as I walk on it is soon replaced by birdsong.
The park is mine, today, I only see six other people. It is too hot for the wig, so I take it off, and feel the wind in my own, so terribly sparse hair. Down by the lock a few weeks ago I met a man who goes there to chat to tourist narrowboaters, who told me his great delight and his great fear and called me “me duck”, a beautiful endearment for a stranger which I had not heard around here before. By some branches, cut and planted in a pattern and now, amazingly to me, putting forth new shoots, I met a man with two dogs of a breed common in Portugal but rare here, who read me, and told me of his own experiments with cross-dressing- his wife does not approve.
Inspired by this post. If you like what I write, please tell people.