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, 30 October 2013

October 30th.



The last few days have been very stormy, the wind sending the leaves scattering from the trees and the meadows full of flood water from the overflowing brook. Flocks of gulls have moved in, enjoying the new habitat, along with canada geese and the ever present herons. 
This morning though, in the calm sunny weather there were still a few late butterflies fluttering around enjoying the last flowers and also some huge bumble-bees, there are still some dandelions, daisies and buttercups to be found.



An Autumn Sabbath walk-
 James Grahame.

'Flowers faintly tinged and breathing no perfume.
 But fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreathe that circles Autumn's brow:
 The ruddy haws Now clothe the half-leafed thorn; the bramble bends 
 Beneath its jetty load; the hazel hangs with auburn bunches, dipping in the stream
 That sweeps alang and threatens to o'erflow
 The leaf-strewn banks:
 oft, statue-like, I gaze,
 In vacancy of thought, upon that stream,
 And chase, with dreaming eye, the eddying foam,
 Or rowan's clustered branch, or harvest sheaf, 
 Borne rapidly down the dizzying flood.'








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