LISTENING TO THE WIND
13.44: Sitting in the dry, on an old bench amid an untidy horde of old carpets, galvanised corrugated sheeting, posts, poles, poles, rocks, plastic bags and general tat. In an old stable, looking out on a cobbled yard which has completely grassed over to the point at which it is now mown. The wall behind, crumbling but still an immensely strong cliff-face of moss, navelwort, the odd wild geranium, spleenwort and ivy-leaved toadflax.
I drove here but wish I’d walked. The rain confused me. Cold, but not as bitter as yesterday. Wet all morning, but not sure how heavy. Could be hard work ahead. What to wear?
Immediately on opening the van door the twice or triple-repeated dictation of lovely song thrush notes and swish of wind up high in trees was delicious. I sheltered under the open boot and listened whilst re-adjusting my upper layers.
Copyright, Joe Hashman www.dirtynails.co.uk