Life in colour

The colours of autumn are so different to any other season - the light casts a benign glow while foliage softens, sweetens and changes.

The heady blues of summer mellow to gentle clear sapphires and pinks. Clouds wrap horizons shawl-like and the air has a taste of distant memories of toffees and salt.

A grey sky to me is like wearing a lead weight, yet other greys abound with such delight - the muted camouflaging greys of a silent river sentry, 

the swirling eddies of deep grey water as it moves with meaning and purpose through a narrow gorge, 

The unnoticed 'invisible' grey supporting flashes of brilliant colour..... a wonderfully stumpy and broad slab of rainbow luminance...

The unobtrusive grey of a boardwalk covered in a confetti of leaves.

Then, there is the more expected colours of autumn,

The punchy reds and pinks....

Oranges and yellows,

Russets, browns and darkening greens,

Rusts, terracottas, ambers, creams and golds....

Tawny, sandy, sunset shades with flashes of caustic whites and sinister alabaster shades.

Talking of sunsets - they too have been sharing their shades of autumn, from fiery and volatile ...

To a more gentle slide into dusk then darkness.

There is so much more to autumn than the decline into decay and a loss of light - I am having to re-think my feeling of loss when the summer goes and learn to see the beauty in the faded charm and cooling weather.

It will take a lot of practice... have yourselves a lovely weekend filled with colour and sunsets in the most glorious shades of autumn xxxxxx

Mud maketh the walk (muddy!)

Dawn brought respite after the all night rain. We'd parked beneath a deciduous tree and all through the night the rain drops landed on the roof making our van as musical at a kettle drum. A lovely metallic sound...all..night..long.............all......... night........looooooong.......

I managed to get a fairly good night's sleep however Himself was very groggy and tired and needed a good strong brew first thing before he felt anyway human!

Moss dragged us out after breakfast  as we stepped into the woods. There were several other vans quietly hidden between the trees, most of the occupants seemed still asleep, although there was one sleepy eyed vanlifer clutching a steaming mug whilst he sat on the step, we nodded a mutual silent greeting almost like a secret club as we walked by. 

The air was filled with bird song accompanied by the steady crunch of our boots on the woodland paths. Moss bounded ahead, following invisible trails of scent as they pulled her along.

The path suddenly reached the edge of the trees and left us against the side of a vast open moorland with mounds of flowering heather and silver birch trees. A weathered abandoned fence post looked for all as a small wooden Easter Island statue, making us both smile at the incongruous sight. 

We re-entered the trees and began to head downwards along a puddle riddled track - Moss was delighted and threw herself into the mud and pretended to be a wallowing warthog, grinning and wagging as we walked towards her.

Along our route, we chanced across an abandoned hamlet so we explored and imagined who lived there and what the buildings were. We even found the old orchard with an apple tree weighed down with glossy red apples - unfortunately despite the urge to attempt a little scrumping - we were unable to penetrate the thorny scrub that protected the tree.

We walked for most of the day, through farmland, over moors, along tracks, through woods, by villages and alongside roads. We stopped and sat next to a fast flowing small brook for a break, giving time for Moss to swim while we drank tea and rested. A long section of the path had been hard going, mud filled, slippery and boot eating. We were tired. 

 On the return journey, the air cooled and the sky faded to a gentle blue, bird song turned from the daylight chittering and twittering to the garrulous evening chorus as they jostled for roosting space in the trees. The blackbirds being the most argumentative of them all. 

The last stretch to the van was the hardest - uphill with a section along the road - but it meant we were nearly 'home' or is that nearly 'van'?!

As we turned into the trees we discovered a small memorial viewing platform, so we stopped, breathed in the cooled air filled with the scent of autumnal decay and trees' breath. 

As we turned away from gazing at the valley we'd spent most of the day walking up one side and back down the other - we saw we were being watched!

It was bliss to take my boots off, to put the kettle on and to sit down. Moss had been fed and was fast asleep on her bed and our food was quietly cooking. That mug of tea was like nectar!

Then, after we'd eaten, I curled up in the bed, with the back door open and watched the woods gradually darken whilst I caught up with a bit of slow sew and Himself read his book.

Another good wild day - despite the mud - it was really good.

xxx

Flying high

We were making our way home - via a very long way round - after a magical couple of days out.  We'd followed yet another narrow track over the moors, where sheep were brazen and hills were huge. We bumped along the road, round the sheep and the potholes. Stopping occasionally to gaze at the amazing views.

We finally reached the col and decided to pull over and just appreciate the expansive vista.  We were not the only van up there, a small white one was parked closer to the edge and a third one was attempting to drive (rather unsuccessfully) through the mud.

The small white van produced a solitary bloke and his paraglider. Himself stuck the kettle on and we sat watching (in the warmth of the van and out of the brittle-cold wind) as we drank tea and munched chocolate digestives.

With a stride or two the red wing inflated and the bloke stepped into his speed-bag (the cocoon they sit in) and just lifted up and out into the void. It was amazing watching him free flying beneath the fabric wing.

It was magical watching him drift to and fro in front of us. Although he was not much higher than where we were parked, where he was flying he was above an amazing drop down to the valley below.

Then, just as our brews finished, he drifted back to the hill edge and landed. With a bit of tidy up of his equipment, he'd put it all away. I felt I had to go and chat to him - he'd provided a lovely 'show' for us whilst we sat in the safety in our van. So, with a nod to the advisory safe distance apart I thanked him for entertaining us and mentioned I had taken a fair few photos and would he like me to email them - so we swapped email addresses and I suspect if the wind was not so cutting we would have spoken longer.

That night, once home, I emailed a few of the better photos and almost immediately he replied, thanking me and to say that wing was new to him and he was giving it a trial. We continued our conversation we'd started through gritted teeth and chilly breeze whilst we were on our way home.  He told me that the uk record for a glider flight is 305km and the world distance record is over 600km! 

It is amazing who you meet and what you find out despite these times. It is good to reach out (in safety of course) and try and keep those links with folk as we did before :)

 And the van struggling with the mud? It took several attempts, reversing, rushing forward and squelching through the puddles and making it worse. Some people just don't think or even consider what they doing and how it damaging it can be....