Out of the Shadows
It had been a cold and very frosty January night, the nipping air stole my breath, the fog had settled on sub-zero surfaces and the pelt of frost had accreted crystals upon crystals. The sky being velvet black was spangled with a myriad of twinkling stars, which were as numberless as days. The stalactite-like icicles suspended in silent grace, the moon was at its full round shine, and where the tree’s shadows were blackly stretching across the land, it captured my heart. My eyes were fixed like a ruby rock, leaving me spellbound, as the moon rained out her beams on the birch trees, transfiguring them in silvery brightness.
Out of the darkness and into the day, the shadows of the golden sun began to exceed the silvery moon, the meadow strewn with cobwebs, glistened with early morning frost. Each web is different, it may not be noticeable, but the difference is there, isn’t this how it should be? For each life makes an indelible difference in this world. I love to ramble every day without any expectations, using just my senses and observed whatever came my way, and loved it with a lust for more.
As I shaded my eyes from the sun, a female blackbird settled close by, she wore a suit of dark brown feathers with pretty rufus highlights showing through, and like the robin with his breast aflame, she too has larger eyes to enable them to see better when the day turns to night. I often marvel at the insistence of the mechanism that has been so richly placed within me, and how my memory afforded me the opportunity to reflect on a memorable, magical December day whilst riding my beloved horse, Rocky. I believe you will never truly know the value of such precious moments until it becomes locked in your memory.
Being unaware that the fractious weather was tending to be troublesome, Rocky noticed the change in the weather conditions, he stood steadfast, with his observing eye and attentive ear listening to the frantic calling of the panic-stricken birds, then the sudden silence. I attempted to move him forward but to no avail, but his eyes struck like lightning, his nose upheld his head and tested the wind, he huffed loudly and stamped his feet for he knew that something was heading towards us. With my curious busy eyes looking over the distant fields, there hung low over the land, a fat and purple roil of cloud looking like the skirt of a hovercraft. It was rolling towards us like the wild angry waves of a stormy sea. Clare, my riding companion was visibly shaken by the quiet stillness, and the spectacle before us. Then with the tension of a startled deer Rocky turned and with his head tucked down low quickly headed back to the farm. His legs were free and elastic with Flint his stable companion flinching visibly trotting close behind and whinnying loudly. The heavy snowstorm was upon us in seconds and in no time at all we were covered in snow with a wonderland of white several inches deep all around.
I always travel in my mind and hold my thoughts in my dreams, for Rocky has taken residence in the recesses of my mind. We were as one together and being so tall he allowed us to get up close and intimate to wild animals, enabling me to gather precious data at a much higher level over many years. Being with him was always a mixture of adventure and magic. I have never known a teacher to educate one’s heart, however, an animal can do just that. Rocky was the finest teacher I have ever known; just to be close to animals who are so full of knowing, so full of love, they just gaze with their marvellous understanding, this was Rocky. He taught me about animal behaviour, our wild vegetation, the formation of clouds, shadows and tenderness. The profound pleasure and value of having a true and faithful friend is the medicine of life. Before I am overcome with sorrow and my heart falls, for I miss his gentle being, I must keep this story light.
With my breath vaporising as I ambled along on one of my roadless travels, I admired how landscapes and our wild communities have memories too, embedded in their structures. When mist settles on the lowest land and the past whispers through, the air knows it. But in my peaceful groves I entered the edgeland of a meadow where clouds of twites passed my way. Feeding on the seeds of flax, millet, small sunflower, lesser knapweed, meadow grasses and other grain bearing plants, to provide winter food over many acres of precious farmland, having been planted to encourage our native songbirds to return to our local area. Immense flocks of twites, also known as mountain linnets, stayed with us throughout late autumn and winter, leaving only in early spring. I have a soft spot for these little sparky birds, they encourage us to take a longer look at their subtle plumage and like the dunnock with her beautiful striations, rival many other showy species.
The last sun-whitened whisp of clouds were ebbing away and the crows had made wing to the rooky woods. The rosy lights were now turning grey, the mist, like blown snow was sweeping over the land and the light fading, but gently it goes through the soft dark night. By recording my memories and old hopes through the darkness I have endured, has forged my identity, like a blacksmith’s hammer for the soul. For I have learnt so much of this world and its workings, but I truly wish life had a second edition and I had the time to learn so much more, for life is a measure to be filled, not a vessel to be drained, and believe we need to focus on our human relationship within it.
