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