I would like to share with you some writing I did when I had only lately arrived in my new home in the country. I was travelling home from the city, a place I only visit when I have to, on the train, and got very inspired by the passing landscape. It will probably have to go over a couple of posts so I hope you will bear with me and enjoy!
My favourite time of day is the late afternoon, especially in Spring and Autumn, but really at any time of year. The quality of the westering sunlight dancing on the leaves, conjuring a sense of doorways into other realms, other dimensions. The deep blue of the sky and trees full of fractals creating shifting patterns moving with the voice of the wind as it whispers, rustling leaf and bough.
As the train rushes into the rapidly approaching night thick platforms of bruised, indigo clouds guard the horizon, hiding the sun whose last reflected rays offer up the last gasp of daytime. Last light meeting the deepening dark of a sky that disappears behind banks of trees before I can discern the graduations of colour, the poetry of nature that I am.
Suddenly I am keen to set down, to precisely enunciate that moving canvas, and to paint a picture with words. Impatiently I wait, but the sky has given up it’s light by the time the barriers to my vision have lifted, and I can no longer see the patterns of tree, dark shapes against a sky becoming darker as we move into the shadows. In the country night is truly black, a delicious absence of visual stimulus that heightens all the other senses, feeling into a void that feels empty even close to town.
So few souls the energetic layers are clear of all the stuff of human nature, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s so dark now I can hardly tell if we are moving as I look out the window, only the gently rolling vibration beneath me informing my body of the forward motion of the train.