JUNE-Flaming June
It is now early June, and the sky was full of gold, painting the little lane with summer magic. The air was alive and humming with bees collecting sweetness from the daisied fields. I love the luxuriant profusion and mad scatter of our wonderful wildflowers, and the vast array of male hoverflies carousing around them. These wonderful harmless insects are responsible for cross pollinating our open-faced flowers whilst putting on a floral dance to attract a female, with the birds heralding that summer is finally here. The lane was packed full with the thrusting creamy-green heads of cow parsley on the point of bursting into summer white.
There is beauty everywhere, in the meadows, the clouds and the dappling sunlight in the wooded glades. Then, as if answering an unspoken plea (a silent bequest) a fleeting vision of nature’s delight occurs. I slowed down and became immersed as I stood watching swallows as they took on a whole new dimension, sitting on the wires wing to wing chattering to the skies above, joyous and pure in spirit. For those taking part are siblings, parents, cousins, friends and extended family, rebuffing any sworn enemies that try to alight close by.
In the mature trees high above, I listened to the first rate singing of the many flocks of young birds, linnets and goldfinches. The birds were warming up with a few simple arpeggios tunes before the full orchestra begins. Out of their breasts came forth ravishing notes. As I surveyed this peaceful landscape, I felt a strange sensation grip my heart as a lady then passes by, hiding a smile in the corners of her lips, she too values the richness of these special moments. Walking by the shallow stream, sweet, clear and rippling, it retains its lazy sweetness. As I travelled on to the edge of the woods the wind was rattling the branches like the clash of rutting stags, but the further Maverick and I entered the woodland, the conditions became calmer. Amongst the cushions of velvety moss Maverick and I rested awhile and observed a mother duck piloting her brood of ducklings with eyes shining bright to the safety of the pond.
As Maverick lay still in sleep, I watched all things with a quiet eye. In the white heat of inspiration, I began to record in my working notebook, my temple of peace, and as I do it releases all kinds of hypnotic qualities. I don’t put myself into what I write, I just find myself there. It’s just the ineffable joy of documenting my wonderful memories. It’s remembering those wonderful times riding my beloved horse Rocky in this area over many years, with his blown mane and flying tail. The times when he stood still with only the twitching of his ears to survey the shadows running across the fields which then disappeared into the sunset, and the many cold winters, in fields or on cobbles bounding when the icy winters steamed his breath into volleying resplendent clouds. It would be remote from my nature if I did not write about these supernatural thrills, but I don’t measure myself in any way, it’s just a call to adventure.
The beautiful memories of Rocky leave me breathless and feeling rather melancholy, but like a hiccup out of the blue, a damselfly settles on my hand and my mind floats sweetly out of subconsciousness. With her wings folded I sat engaged in guessing, never flitting, still sitting with bejewelled colours bright, then glittering in the light as her body gently soars and glides with iridescent grace. They have a highly ecological importance as they feed on pest insects such as flies, gnats and mosquitos. A truth was unfurled, a beauty that binds us to the heart of this world, leaving an effective tracing over me, a tonic for the mind. But the silence is broken as the thunder mutters louder. In that very moment the past, the present and the future became as one, and I knew the spirit of this place.
As Maverick and I head for home and leave this wonderful place we could hear the pheasants, their calls betray them as the day turns to night, where fluffy clouds appear like a castle across the moon.
