Tuesday, 17 July 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


17 July


Last night, alerted by a tapping sound on the roof, we opened the kitchen doors and were met by the earthy smell of rain.  It was 10.30pm.  I walked the length of the garden and stood in the twilight, looking out over the fields at the narrow, orange arc of the moon, and let the heavy droplets fall on me.  It was over all too soon, but was so good while it lasted!

This morning is breezy and blue.  Small white fists of cloud scud across the sky and the air is cool.  We set out just after 7am and walk approximately three and a half miles.

On the dusty bridle path near the wood, I observe the dark polka dot pattern of last night’s large raindrops still evident on its surface – as if the soil has held them there, just to treasure them for a bit longer.

By 8.10am the sun is already feeling hot, but I have planned our route so that the last section will be in shade. A buzzard flies languorously above us, casting the shadow of its great wingspan onto the land below.

We reach the lane at the bottom of the hill and wind our way along.  Millie stops periodically to check out flattened areas of the verge, where the deer have crossed from field to field.  There is still some water at the bottom of the deep, tree-covered ditch.

Further along, the land rises again, and here the drainage is being improved.  It may not seem relevant now, but when I think back to the winter, it is all too necessary.  A digger has cleared another deep, narrow ditch (it looks as if it descends steeply about three metres) and three dead trees have been removed.  I can see the open ends of two large pipes (the land drains) jutting out of the smooth, cut side of the opposite bank.  Before being cleared, the bed of this deep-set brook ran between gnarled tree roots and was overhung with lianas and twisted branches.  In parts it looked more like a sunken lane from a hobbit adventure.  Now the base and one side are composed of shiny, compacted clay.  They will speed the autumn rains on their way.

As we reach the top of the hill, the swallows are skimming the surface of the cropped clover at high speed, in pursuit of their in-flight meals.

We head back home and I into the studio to begin again a day’s painting.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Sunday, 15 July 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


15 July


The last time that I seem to have recorded any rainfall was on 12 June, and that was just a light shower, refreshing an already parched landscape.  I have almost forgotten that earthy smell of long-awaited rain when it falls.  I’m hoping that this week I will experience it again.

The harvest has begun early, with some straw already baled.  Everything is bleached and tinder-dry – the crops, the lawns, the verges.  The leaves of the huge horse-chestnut tree on the green are hanging limply and many are covered in brown scales.  It all needs rain.

The butterflies, however, are loving the warm sunshine.  Small blues, large whites, peacocks, red admirals, small tortoiseshells, ringlets and gate keepers abound.  They especially love the pinky/purple flowers of the oregano, both in the garden and that which has escaped into the meadow.

Mrs Blackbird lands noisily on a post in front of me.  She does a pirouette, whilst nabbing an insect.  As she turns, I can see that the feathers on her rear end are scruffy and loose – no doubt she is moulting.  The only birdsong on this baking hot afternoon is the cheep-cheep of sparrows and the rippling little voices of the goldfinches.  Meanwhile I sit in the shade and write my notes, dive-bombed by butterflies and listening to the electrified “zzzzzz” of the grasshoppers.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Sunday, 8 July 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


8 July


Lepus the hare is out in force this morning.  We see seven on our early walk, including two separate incidents in which the individuals come lolloping down the dusty track towards us, only to be surprised by the presence of two people and a short-sighted whippet!  In what looks like a “yikes!” cartoon moment, both pause, stare, and then swiftly do a 180 degree change of direction, showing us the soles of their long, narrow feet.

The crops are ripening rapidly now and I saw the first harvested field yesterday.  It seems as if the entire landscape is turning to the colour of pale straw.

In the meadow, a few ox-eye daisies are still to be seen, now accompanied by the occasional splash of red from a newly opened poppy.  Mauve thistle heads are providing food for the goldfinches and the spikey, purple flowers of knapweed are beginning to appear.  We have laid out three shallow water bowls, refreshing them daily.  Butterflies have been sipping delicately from them and the blackbird with no tail (now growing again) helps himself to a drink before foraging amongst the tall stems adjacent to the path.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Monday, 2 July 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


2 July


Millie and I are still employing our “earlier and further” walking routine.  The hot weather continues, with no end currently in sight.  The grass is cool and dewy in the shadow of the hedgerow, and we can keep up a comfortably brisk pace without breaking into a sweat.

Much to Millie’s disappointment, rabbit-ville is devoid of occupants this morning.  She still performs her low “stealth” walk – just in case!

We take in the sights from the meandering little lane at the bottom of the valley, and I am pleased to note that the stream that runs beneath the old cart bridge still has water in it.  No doubt this is due to the enclosed tree tunnel which sits above it, providing constant shade.  Watering holes for the wildlife must be getting sparse by now.

On the way back uphill, towards the church, the sheep in the field on the left are huddled under the shadow of a large oak.  They fit themselves together, like a woolly jigsaw, in order to form its exact shape.  They always remind me of the paintings of Samuel Palmer when I see them thus.

By the afternoon, the meadow sounds as if it has been plugged into the mains.  The continuous, electrified “zzzzzzzz....” is being emitted by innumerable grasshoppers, whilst velvety brown Ringlet butterflies flit over the surface of its biscuit-coloured stems.

Thankfully, however, there is a considerable breeze, and looking out beyond the grasses and wildflowers, a vast field of pale green barley on the opposite side of the valley is being combed by the wind.  It is flicking over the surface and forming almost white waves.  We have an inland sea view!




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Tuesday, 26 June 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


26 June


When I look out, shortly before dawn, there is layer of mist floating just above the earth.  A band of soft-focus, hovering between grass and sky.  Our little valley has become a sea, and the wood, an island.  The billowing green of two large oaks that pierce the grey, appear as the sails of galleons.

The sunrise brings bright light and saturated colour.  Millie and I go out earlier than usual, in order to avoid the heat and to walk whilst the hedges still afford some shade.  The paths where I once slipped and slid through mud, are dry and dusty.  They crumble underfoot.  There is a crunching sound as I walk. 

Other sounds – the jingle of Millie’s harness; the light tap of her little feet on the pale clay; the chirping of hedgerow birds and the song of a wren; the grasshoppers “zzzz-ing” and the deep “baaaaah” of distant sheep, interspersed with the higher-pitched “beh-he-heh” of maturing lambs.  They have stripped the pasture of every stem of clover.  They will soon be on the move.  But for now they cluster around the bowser, or gather beneath the trees for shade.



All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Sunday, 24 June 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


24 June


Everything is beginning to dry out in the heat.  The tops of the meadow grasses are golden brown and many of the corn crops look as if they are starting to turn.  With high temperatures forecast, and no rain for the foreseeable future, it looks as if the harvest may be early this year.

There are more butterflies than ever amongst the grasses.  As I sit here, writing, they are fluttering haphazardly across the tops of the seed heads and flowers in the field.  In the distance, there is what my father would have called a “heat wobble” - a visual disturbance, just above the surface of the earth, caused by the high temperature.  The butterflies look even more erratic, as they waver through it.

Some scuttling, to my left, most likely signifies the presence of a mouse rummaging around in a heap of ivy-covered logs, whilst our resident blackbird (the one with the missing tail feathers) is singing his fruity little song in the holly tree.  He has grown so tame, since raising his family in the garden, that he dares to come very close.  He has taken to sitting on the fence, just above my head, and to serenading us. On a garden table, 2 meters away, we have set out a water bowl.  He appears on the fence opposite and then flies over to the wooden surface.  His egg-yolk yellow beak is open, as if to let out the heat within.  With admirable boldness, he hops across the tabletop and onto the edge of the ceramic container, to enjoy a lengthy drink.  Then, with his thirst quenched, he moves to the shelter of the blousy, perfumed Philadelphus, in order to perform his song-cycle once again.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Wednesday, 20 June 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


20 June


Grey clouds blowing across a verdant patchwork of landscape.  Different shades of softness, illuminated here, and then there.

Every day threatens rain, but none comes.  The earth in the fields is cracked - openings as wide as my thumb.  If we don’t get some moisture soon, crop yields will be down.  Especially after the snow-delayed Spring.

A buzzard glides above the sheep field and finches chatter in the hedgerows.  The air is temperate.

As I leave the lane behind and set off uphill, I hear only the skylarks and the wind.  The wood sounds like the sea.

On a path along the edge of an oat field, I count five Meadow Brown butterflies - alighting, ascending, alighting, ascending - ahead of us as we walk.

Then home through the barley; the wind rippling the green, velvet surface.  Waves passing over us.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Wednesday, 13 June 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


13 June


The morning is still and mild.  On the lane, a member of the farm staff is putting up an electric fence around a clover field, to prepare it for sheep pasture.  The sound of stakes being hammered into the ground echoes across the valley.  I hear it still, as I reach the bridle path and turn uphill towards the wood.  From an oak tree, half way along, a buzzard languorously floats out and begins to circle above the adjacent crop.  I have skylark voices in stereo.  

Walking along the edge of the wood, the sound of our feet on the dry ground disturbs a number of pigeons.  The sudden burst of noise, as they hurriedly take flight, makes Millie jump, as it echoes from tree to tree across the clearing.  I can see that the paths have been cut and have turned to the colour of drying grass.

The cloud layer is slowly sliding back to reveal a pale cerulean sky.  There is something both beautiful and moving about its clarity.  It looks fresh enough to dive into – a hopeful, pure light.  I wish that I could capture it in a painting, but I know that it is impossible to do it justice.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Friday, 8 June 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


8 June


The small meadow is going through a growth spurt.  The grasses seem to have shot up – a bit like when you discover that your hair has become too long overnight!  The wind moves across them, making their tops sway back and forth, like gentle waves on the sea.  It is very relaxing to watch.  And if they are the waves, then the ox-eye daisies are the spray.  Patches of white, star-shapes, moving to the same rhythm, their faces turned toward the sun.

Cutting the paths, I find Small Blue butterflies fluttering ahead of me, and have to stop the mower several times, in order to avoid a casualty!  I am always amazed how much life inhabits such a small area - and I’m sure that I only know the half of it.  The goldfinches, rooks and green woodpecker are still daily visitors, and last week I spotted a female pheasant crouching nervously amidst the stems.

Today I spy numerous small orange/brown moths(?) and notice that one of the bug hotels is doing a brisk trade, with potential new clients investigating the narrow-bore holes that are drilled into its lower level.  Welcome.  The rates are reasonable and the service is really quite good.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Monday, 4 June 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


4 June


Looking out at the twilight before dawn, I see that a layer of thick mist is wrapped around the trees and draped over the grass.  Opaque, pale grey.  A silent landscape in monochrome.

The mist gives way to light cloud.  A still, cool atmosphere, perfect for walking.  The blue/green blades of the young wheat are covered in tiny water droplets.  Everything is growing so rapidly now.   Some of the grasses on the field margins reach my eye level, and in places on the path, Millie disappears - her location denoted only by swaying seed heads.  

The grasses have a fragile beauty.  Many of them are in flower now, with powdery explosions atop their slender stems.  There are so many varieties; I love their names - Meadow Foxtail, Cocksfoot, Meadow Fescue, Quaking Grass and Yorkshire Fog!




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Tuesday, 22 May 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


22 May


Bright light and a clear sky, but a strong breeze.  The tops of the oaks rustle and sway; the scented hawthorn moves like a wave.  Out of sight, but nearby, the croaky call of a pheasant, followed by the short, muffled drumbeat of its wings.

An Orange Tip butterfly haphazardly crosses our path - like a scrap of dip-dyed paper, blown by the wind.

Buffetted by the vigorous air, a sounds like the sea in my ears, we press on down the path.  In a sheltered spot further along, the waterfall song of the skylark drips over me, while the first swallows dip and dive and skim the surface of the green.


All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Wednesday, 16 May 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


16 May


The meadow is alive with goldfinches.  These bright little birds are so tiny that they can hang onto the dandelion stems and eat the "clocks".  The flit around with their undulating flight, chattering away with their high-pitched voices.  I count ten.  Their collective noun is a "charm"  –  a suitable word on so many levels.

The scent of the may is sweet and heady.  The hawthorn hedges are thick with white, refulgent blooms.  Turning a corner, I suddenly hear a strange cacophony coming from the sky on my right.  It's all happening!  The clicking/gurgling sound is being emitted by two crows that are trying to see off a buzzard.  One flies above it, the other below.   Their commotion sets a hare running directly beneath them.   They are engaged in a display of aerial acrobatics, like two spitfires above the curve of the earth.  The large bird turns this way and that, but eventually gives up and glides off to perch on a telegraph pole in the middle of the field.

This great field has been sown with "green manure"  –  clover, bird's foot trefoil and chicory.  Also in abundance –  the ubiquitous dandelion clocks.  The buzzard, who has been sitting like Simeon the Stylite, suddenly dives into the green, resulting in the immediate rising of a little cloud of noisy and excited birds.  They form one shape, whose elements move around each other like atoms.  The bird of prey is unlucky again, and with a flap of its great wings, it returns to its post, while the little cloud chitter-chatters away, as if blown by the breeze, over the surface of the sward.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Friday, 11 May 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


11 May


Suddenly the leaves of the apple trees and the beech hedge have appeared, to fill the space in front of the cottage.  They are interspersed with the narrow batons of a collapsing fence.  The bright, morning light is filtered through patches of luminous green.  In the bed at their feet, irises have bloomed.  Rich, luxurious purple.  I examine them closely.  The petals are striped with white at their bases, contrasted with yolk-coloured pollen that sits atop the slender, white stamens.  Fabric is a beautiful thing, but could any woven silk really be as magnificent as these flowers?

In equal measure to this grand display, I am attracted to the buds of the iris.  The furled, compact petals are a deep, dark indigo – one of my favourite colours.  They sit on their stems like tall and elegant sculptures – the Vogue models of the flower world.


It is windy and bright out on the lane.  I pause beneath an oak tree and look up at its structure.  Then I just stand and listen to the powerful rush of the air, moving through the tender leaves.  It sounds so fresh.  If only it could blow between my ears and clear the fuzziness from my head!

Deep yellow dots of buttercups are beginning to emerge from the growing grass verges, and where the snow once lay, there are great drifts of cow parsley.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Monday, 7 May 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


7 May


There is a deep crimson skyline to the east, and above it a pale cerulean, turning to deep cobalt at the zenith.  It is 4.25am and we are walking across open fields towards the nearest wood, in order to listen to the dawn chorus.  The sun will not rise for almost an hour, but the twilight affords visibility enough to find our way with ease and the blackbirds and robins have already begun to sing.  The weather forecast promises a glorious day, and certainly there is complete clarity in the atmosphere and not a breath of air movement.

As we cross from one field to the next, and turn along a hedge line, we put a pair of partridges to noisy flight.  Then, as our silent little procession passes beneath an oak tree, a tawny owl launches itself into the blue and floats away beneath the half moon and the morning star.  When we reach the edge of the wood, the wrens have joined in and the occasional pheasant call is echoing eerily across the surrounding valley.

Within the wood, the lush grass is drenched with a heavy dew, which soon passes through my old leather walking boots and soaks into my socks – it is pleasantly cooling.  My trousers wick up the moisture and the damp climbs towards my shins.  It is darker in here.  The moon peeps at us between the trees.  In the densest area, we disturb slumbering pigeons, who leave their roosts with a deep clapping sounds.  Not wanting to alarm them further, we move back into a more open area and pause to listen to a song thrush singing mellifluously, high up and to our left.

We are outside the wood now, following its southern edge.  Suddenly B spots something loping along ahead of us.  It is a fox.  Its coat looks thick and rough and glows a deep red in the rosy light. 

Taking the bridle path to out left, we hear warblers in the hedgerow.  Three hares run along the far edge of the field to our right and then three to our left.  They chase each other along the horizon line, under a pale pink sky.  

As we near the cottage, shortly before 5.30am, we are walking due east and into the face of the fully risen sun.  We are forced to avert our eyes in deference to the fiery globe, which is covering the landscape in liquid gold.




All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Friday, 4 May 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


4 May


Two Orange Tip butterflies are nosing the white flowers of a patch of nettles, and from the grassy path ahead, a Skipper rises up and alights on a clod in the newly cultivated field.  It all but disappears against the pale, brown earth.  Three Small Whites ripple down the line of cowslips as we walk, and a Peacock butterfly seems so enamoured with Millie that, at one point, I think that it is going to land on her head!  The heat is bringing out the butterflies and, I notice, the small mauvy-blue flowers of the Self-Heal - a contrast to the vivid dandelion yellow.

At a high point along the path, I stop and sit down.  It is a step above the field margin, and thus provides a ready seat.  The air is perfectly still.  It is silent, save for the “hummm” of bees and flies, going about their business.  I gaze into the hazy distance, watch the flight patterns of birds and absorb the warmth of the afternoon sun.  I can feel it soaking into my bones.  Millie snuffles about in the grass – eating dandelions and rabbit droppings, if truth be told.  The peace is welcome and therapeutic.

As we reach the first dwellings, on our way back along the lane, the smell of a barbecue scents the evening air – the first outdoor cooking of the year has begun.


All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Wednesday, 2 May 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


2 May


Millie and I are out early, in order to avoid the oncoming rain.  I’m aware of the increase in open flowers that have begun to decorate the verges and bases of the hedgerows – some paths have literally hundreds of cowslips along their edges.  I see also patches of tiny, blue, forget-me-nots, newly emerged red campion, primroses, garlic mustard and still partially enclosed bluebells.  There are dog violets too, and soon the sides of the lane and the field margins will be frothing with white cow parsley.  And then there is Bellis Perennis, the “everlasting beauty”, the “eye of day” – it closes its petals at night and opens them every morning.  A rather underrated, cheery little flower, in my opinion.

The trees are coming into leaf too.  The views across the landscape are changing accordingly, as they put on their garments and take up more space.  Gaps are closing and light is filtered through the tender green.  The weeping willow, by the village hall, cascades down in a rush of pale, slender leaves.  Together they are so dense and full of movement that it looks as if spray from a great wave is about to break over me.  But there, in the centre of it all, sits a pigeon, perfectly still and eying me warily.



All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Wednesday, 25 April 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


25 April


The wind is sending the clouds scudding across the sky as we take the footpath across a newly planted field and uphill towards the wood.  We travel carefully along the narrow ribbon between the tiny green shoots until the path disappears though an archway in a high hedge, frothing with may blossom.

Once on the other side, Millie pulls on the lead towards the field ahead of us and stands up on her back legs like a meerkat, emitting a whine of excitement.  What has she seen?  There seems to be only brown earth, until.....something moves on the skyline.  I drop down and squat on my haunches in order to put the object directly into my eyeline.  There is only the sound of the wind and the low-toned handclap of rooks leaving the boughs of a nearby oak tree.

In this open landscape, on this bright morning, there seems to be only we three creatures on the earth - Millie, me, and the running hare.



All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Monday, 23 April 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


23 April


Since the beginning of the year I have produced over twenty paintings.  Today I am allocating them to four groups, in order to send them to four shows which are coming up in May and June.  I have been deliberating for a while, but now I make my final decision and carefully wrap and stack each one. There is little room to move in my small studio.  All spare work surfaces and hanging spaces are full.

Before beginning the associated form-filling, I give myself a break in order to cut the meadow path.  Although it is only eight days since the field was mown, the grass has grown so rapidly as to make it almost indistinguishable.  I am keen to re-establish it.  Its sinuous edge and neatness emphasise the beauty of the wild areas.

Edges are also very important to me in my work.  In a painting, a well-crafted edge enhances that which lies on either side.



All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Friday, 20 April 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


20 April


Last night’s sky provided two spectacular light shows: 

The full orb of the setting sun, coloured with the deepest crimson, sitting on the line of the horizon.

Later, the moon – a bright, narrow arc in a cloudless, starlit sky, appearing like an acorn in vivid silver cup.



All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

Wednesday, 18 April 2018


Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.


18 April


I awake at 4.30am with an all-to-familiar sensation of sore and sickening pain in my face, my forehead, and at the base of my skull, accompanied by a loud ringing in my left ear.  I slip silently out of bed, gently stretch my neck and back, and take my medication.  I return to bed and fall quickly into a sleep composed of short, vivid dreams – another symptom that I recognise as an indication of migraine.  Fortunately, I have caught it soon enough, and I awake at 6am to find that a summer-like morning has arrived.


It is already 18°C at the top of the hill and the gentle breeze and warm air soothe my fuzzy head as we descend the undulating path.  At the bottom of the valley, a buzzard flying lazily overhead, begins its high-pitched and elongated “mewww, mewww”.  We step onto the small wooden bridge, accessed through a gap in the hedge, and cross the brook, which chatters over pebbles, beneath the sulphur explosions of willow catkins and slender, unfurling leaves.  We pass through rabbit-ville and out onto the road…..

….Well, it’s hardly a road really.  Along the bottom of this picturesque little valley, a lane snakes and slithers its way between rising fields.  The views are stunning.

The only aspect that saddens me, is the litter which has been thrown from passing vehicles and which finds its way into the ditch and beneath the hedgerow.  I collect as much as I can.  It is mostly plastic bottles and cans for “high energy” drinks, and cardboard and plastic wraps for sandwiches and burgers.  I feel sad that the hands that discarded these objects, belong to eyes that do not see the surrounding beauty, hearts that do not appreciate it, and minds that do not think of the potential harm to nature.  Many people are now, quite rightly, concerned about how we can rid the environment of plastic.  It is ironic that it is being put there daily, by other people, who do not share their concerns.  One hand gives and the other takes away.  There are clever technical solutions currently being proposed, but really it all comes down to the blind eyes being opened and that, as we know, takes a miracle.


The warm air is bringing out the blossom – the hawthorn hedges are decked with small, white flowers and the cherry trees with pink.

When I return home, the magnolia tree in Barry’s garden is shimmering in the sunlight.  This most ephemeral of tree flora often falls victim to frosts, which scorch its delicate petals, causing them to turn brown and die.  Today, however, there is no such danger.  It basks in the morning sun, soaking up the warmth, which is predicted to rise to 26°C tomorrow.  After the chill fog of last week, it feels as if we have been sent to the Mediterranean for a couple of days – and no queue at the airport!



All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson


http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/