I’ll admit to finding something deeply special at this time of year, just after midsummer, at the particular time of day as the sun is about to set and the land is suddenly lighter, for a few minutes, than it’s been before. I think it’s called the ‘gloaming’; the time between sunset and dusk. For me, it’s the magic moment of summer time.
Friday was a grey old day. I had come down late the night before, leaving Charlie in London having a party with our lovely neighbour Nic from here in Dorset, who was staying with him up at the flat for a night. I had to be down in Dorset for work and meetings. Which was ironic. Chilly clouds scudded across the Dorset hills on Friday morning, and by the afternoon rain was sweeping in from the west. At eight o’ clock, I collected Charlie and Nic from Dorchester station.
As we dropped down into the valley the skies cleared and a beautiful, soft sunset fell upon the drenched, misty landscape. We got home to find Charlie’s border looking like a jewel.
I was cooking. Nic, with Charlie, popped across the road to collect her husband Jim, who looks after sheep and rare breed cattle…the famous ‘Longhorn Jim’. I am not sure if links are still available to watch the BBC film made about Jim a few years ago, but here’s a starting point: perhaps see what you can uncover… (time for a re-broadcast I think, don’t you?).
Meanwhile, I couldn’t believe the mist blowing over the hills. The scene was completely beautiful.
I was taking photos when out popped Jim, Charlie and Nic. Our very own village supermodels, as far as I’m concerned.
In fact, in all seriousness, we’re trying to persuade Nic that she really needs to become a model. Don’t you agree? (modeling agencies reading this blog please get in touch and I will put you on to her).
Cattle grazed between the trees.
Looking west, down the valley, the light was extraordinary; like nothing you’ve seen before.
It was a moment of extreme, fragile beauty.
I turned back home… it was time to finish off cooking, after all; Jim, Nic and Charlie had already left to open a bottle. The light on the village and the little church at the bottom of our garden was beautiful.
The sun set, and the gloaming time was reached. We settled in for a long night of roast chicken and happy conversation, and lots of wine, and new potatoes and salad straight out of the garden, and the travails of a long week faded into distant memory, and all was very, very good with the world on a high summer evening in the far west of Dorset.
