Abstract Landscape Painter. Rural Dweller. Lover of Modernist Art and Design.
The leaves of the fig tree are a pale, luminous ochre; they seem to float against the backdrop of grey.
There is a chill dampness to the air. Carrion crows ‘carr, carr, carr’ from the tops of the increasingly bare trees and the brisk breeze makes me shiver, as I step out into the garden.
Along the lane, a neighbouring cottage is covered in scaffolding. The outer layer of moss-covered thatch is being stripped away. As Millie and I pass by, a workman is carrying a sheaf of fresh reeds from the back of a truck. He puffs as he puts the long bale onto his shoulder and heads for the metal structure.
More ploughed work is beginning to appear. A tractor driver prepares for another day’s work. We pause to look at the rich, chocolate-coloured earth that has been carved into long, wave-like lines. It contrasts sharply with the pale, uncut stubble, immediately adjacent. From this high vantage point, I can see sheep across the valley, sitting on the soft, green surface, below the wood.
Many of the leaves have started to fall now, but there is still much colour to be seen as the green drains away from those that remain. The trees are putting on their glowing gowns of deep red and gold, for one last celebration before night falls, and they sleep once more.
All text & images ©2019 Carol Saunderson