Nature Notes… where writing and photography combine…

[Scroll down the page to see more images and prose – the page will continually be added to.  Recommended screen size 125-150%.]

Winter, when the days are grey, damp and overcast, the best place to be is indoors beside a warm fire. On cold, frosty days, especially when there is sunshine, it is quite different: the air is as crisp as the hoar underfoot, filling the lungs with its coolness yet bringing warming joy to the heart. Nature is silenced, the sense of magic is palpable.

In Winter in the Garden, E T Cook in 1908 captures one such moment…

winter twigs 1908

“Under the low sunshine the trees are silver, and every twig is edged with diamonds and pearls”

There is something rather appealing about tiny, wild flowers. For me, the bird’s foot lotus or trefoil always makes me think of childhood summers – whereas my sister was content to make daisy chains from those found on the lawn, I wanted to search dry, grassy banks for what we called Eggs and Bacon.  To find the occasional burnt orange flower (the bacon) amongst the countless golden yellow ones (the eggs) was almost as good as being presented with a plateful of the real thing!

The July Grass, Richard Jefferies, 1889

bird's-foot trefoil - rj

“It is so common, the bird’s-foot lotus, it grows everywhere; yet if I purposely searched for days I should not have found a plot like this, so rich, so golden, so glowing with sunshine.  You might pass by it in one stride, yet it is worthy to be thought of for a week and remembered for a year”

For the first of my Nature Notes I have chosen one of my favourite photographs and the writing of one of my favourite authors.  The words of Victorian naturalist and mystic (although I doubt if he would have described himself as such) match my feelings so perfectly and the photo of my father and me as a young boy has a timeless quality about it.

The Open Air, Richard Jefferies, 1885 (I’m not quite as old as that!)

john & h - rj

“So it seemed to me as a boy, sweet and new like this each morning; and now after the years that have passed, and the lines they have worn in the forehead, the summer mead shines as bright and fresh as when my foot first touched the grass…”