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

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