JULY-Thunderheads and Lightning
It was now early July, the morning was fine, the sky blue, and the clouds below like fluffy white balls of cotton. The lane was awash with the great willowherb, a splash of pinkish mauve amongst the tall umbellifers. There was an abundance of golden yellow ragwort, this plant being the distain of many, but not for the ephemeral wings of the cinnabar moth who rears her yellow and black striped caterpillars on this tenacious plant.
As I continued my journey, I came across a man resting beneath a large oak tree with his beautiful dog by his side, who had eyes that were kestrel keen. His master however, I believed to be a taciturn man who in his solitude was not much into conversation, with a desire to remove himself from others and to be alone. Although I was unaware of the un-named sorrows that seemed to trouble him, I could tell there was an agony about him. For I also came to this majestic oak tree in times gone by, when I had also walked in the darker corners of this world, to learn the art of peace, to hear the word of silence, being so content that I would forget the outlines and confines of myself and became defused into the air. I truly hope he finds some solace here. But the quiet man’s attitude changed slightly when I asked the name of his Irish Setter, with his head bowed low he replied in a sullen mumble. “His name is Oghma.” “Oh, the mystical Irish God of poetry and language,” I replied. He said nothing but gave a friendly nod of his head, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. But an observant eye could see the lines of his suffering and his emotional depth. Grief was all his thoughts and solitude his home. I must now take my distance before his softness fades; I hope to mine a little deeper if we should ever meet again.
I went on my way and headed towards the reedbeds where undisturbed spider’s webs hang and hidden creatures scuttle. This is a place to listen to the laverock trills of the water ouzel (dipper). Where bright spikes of yellow iris raise their heads on either side, and the purple loosestrife spreads its beauty far and wide. Here is a place where the moorhens are thriving, a place I often frequent and watch how they rise to the sunshine, clinging to the tops of the reedmace like pixies, and where a row of chicks came through the yesty waves. I watch with fascination how the previous brood feed their young siblings, it stills me, calms my spirit and lets me dream. I became lost in reverie as I reflected when in the past, I observed house martins feeding their brethren in the muddy procreant cradle. It made me realise that it’s not what you look at, it's what you see when you look.
At this time of year each day becomes hotter and more humid than the last, the right conditions for the formation of thunderheads, clouds that produce thunderstorms with large bolts of lightning. When lightning flashes it heats gases in the atmosphere, two of the gases nitrogen and oxygen combine to form a natural fertilizer called nitrous oxide. When nitrous oxide mixes with heavy raindrops it falls to earth enriching the soil, enabling plants on land and the meadows of the oceans to grow much stronger. Our lawns too will benefit from this natural phenomenon becoming lusher after suffering from drought damage during the intense heatwave in June.
I must continue my journey once again. As the light softly diffuses the air in the summer evening, the grasshoppers are in merry mood with their fretting song. The honeysuckle drapes its sweet swirling flowers and the roses bloom, white and pale pink in the ripe enthronement of the year. Amongst the tangled hedgerows, where the meadowsweet raises its creamy tassels of blooms, whether static or in flux with the airs soft lift of the winnowing wind I become drowsed by their heady perfume. I too must hurry as now the sky is moaning and I must carry my thoughts and head for home before the storm clouds gather and the fading landscape sinks into the dark. To my surprise the quiet man came into view and lifted his arm aloft to wave. I acknowledged him and waved back. I believe our first meeting was awkward and difficult for him to walk into voluntarily, but now I feel that the doors are wide open for future conversation.
