Writing

  There are many ways I like the outdoors and walking. High mountain treks, camping wild and on camp sites, woodland strolls and wild flower hunting. In my local area there’s a river I often visit, good for a surprisingly long walk, because it’s not the countryside. I saw a kingfisher there last week, in […]

Some years ago I decided to mark the occasion of my first skylark. I don’t do anything, except to recognise and enjoy the moment.

I prefer bigger hills for walking but enjoy Peak District photography.

Who made the world, asks Mary Oliver in her poem The Summer Day. It’s a simple line I often return to. Read it and think it, although I haven’t reflected on the words extensively which they need.

There’s a little known Canadian film called I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing. I watched it many years ago. A friend, who was a Buddhist, said “it’s a nice film” in an emphatic way.

Look closely at trees and this year’s leaves are already there. It might be hidden but with others, there are buds in waiting, made from last year’s sun.

The walk starts with a choice. Turn left, go down a pathway worn in the grass. The first time I went there felt like an adventure. This is not the mountains, it’s urban nature but the feelings are the same, different in size not quality.

Religions don’t interest me but philosophy does. Not so much the scholasticism of Western endeavour, but elsewhere and from ancient time. Aslan tells the children in Narnia: no you don't understand, there's an old magic, much older, which always rules.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it” she said and I replied “yes but not much autumn left. We’re on the cusp of winter.”

Of all seasons autumn has most effect on me. I love spring and summer with the flowers and big warm days. Don’t like winter or its approach.