In 1906 Edith Holden started a Diary, now known as ‘The Country Diary Of An Edwardian Lady’. In it, she observed Natures cycle through the months of the year, writing simply about the weather, the birds, the flowers and the natural world around her. All the pages are beautifully ornamented with her original artwork and favourite poems. In this Blog, I’m going to try to emulate her Diary in a modern way. For a start, this is a blog on a computer, not pen and ink lovingly written on paper! However, I hope that the end result will have some similarities, in that I want to capture day by day, month by month the steady rhythm of Nature through the year. For although our 21st century lives are hectic, chaotic, noisy and deafened by electronics, the beat of the natural world, which is the backdrop to all our lives whether we notice it or not, remains ever the same. So take a sedate, gentle and steady-paced journey with me through the next year, observing the natural world. Our way of life may have changed almost beyond recognition since 1906, but nature is doing what it always has done, the cycle of nature remains constant and reassuringly predictable. In that respect, nothing has changed. ‘ No Winter lasts forever; no Spring skips its turn.’ (Hal Borland)

Wednesday, 6 March 2013

March 6th.

A bit of a grey, drizzly day, but calm and still.
Up on Red Hill the skylarks were back, I heard them first, their lovely warbling, trilling song high up in the air. Then eventually I spotted them; two, either side of the lane in opposite fields, little dots in the grey sky. One came fluttering down and landed in the field as I watched. A huge flock of fieldfares came whisking over the top of my head and made me jump, on their way to congregate in a near-by tree. Won’t be long before their Spring migration. 

The Primrose- Thomas Carew.
 (based upon an earlier poem by Robert Herrick)

Ask me why I send you here
The firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose all bepearled with dew:
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washed with tears.
Ask me why this flower doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too; 
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break:
I must tell to you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.

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