From the sparkling sunshine and greens and blues of New Zealand to the depths of the English winter. Dorset is drenched. The rain poured down yesterday, and we hardly left the house.
This morning, I took my camera on our daily round – nothing new to see, except that we always see the earth and the landscape in a completely new and fresh light every time we look.
This is the time of year when there’s a total absence of life in the woods and fields – not a leaf on the trees, nothing stirring. Just grey, green, brown. The earth laid bare. We’ve had the shortest day, almost a month ago now. It’s as if there is a lag to what’s happening in nature. I love the clarity of the hills, the lie of the land, at this particular moment. The absence of colour other than green. I think I couldn’t do without the green of the English winter- it was the thing I was most homesick for when I lived in America, where the winters were so cold (and hence so dry) that everything was parched to a pale golden brown, as if in a drought of summer. But here, on the hazels, the catkins are coming into flower…. And Charlie’s snowdrops are all coming through. Just before lunch, after a huge rainstorm, the clouds parted and sunshine gleamed.
The lime tree by the church was transformed into something astonishing, made of silver. The house was bathed in brilliant sunshine, the sky was blue. For the moment, the garden feels full of optimism and promise. I could have called this blog ‘Sunshine after Rain’. I’d like to say that’s how we should all be feeling. Something tells me we’ll be happy to get through the next few dark weeks, but deep in the dark earth, spring is bursting, as it always has, and always will. It’s good to remember that just now.