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

16 March

There is no air movement.  All is still.  The setting sun lends a red hue to the blackthorn.  Lichen-coated tree branches are citrus-green.  The brook that they overhang is full from the snow melt and the week’s additional rain.

I stand at the top of the hill and look out across the rolling countryside.  A line of tiny, distant cars looks as if it is riding a giant rollercoaster.  A blackbird sings his fruity evening song in the hedgerow and blue tits flit in and out of sight, calling in their high-pitched, staccato voices.  I look up at the illuminated clouds, caught in the scratchy net of the treetops.  I am weary, but the privilege of being this close to nature, is immeasurably soothing.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

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