On my way to catch the horses which had found a much better field to graze in than their winter paddock, I passed the lake. Just a simple moment of beauty, the little house, the sky and the relection of the bushes and the clouds on the surface. A lack of time to contemplate, simply to receive, be grateful and to continue… Farmlife.
The time of the wood anemone is here. The forests, damp meadows, and the road banks of the forests are covered with these small fragrant flowers. Hardy against frost and wind they are a sure sign of spring in our area.
I took a morning walk together with Toby. The mist has always attracted me in its fairytale atmosphere, always a little mysterious.
Arriving to the old barn, gray and sombre, we took a pause enveloped by the saturated air, and looked at the beauty.
Then back again, the mist almost vanished by the sun.
We took a rest, the two of us. Suddenly Toby sensed something in the air. I just wonder what it was that he caught with his sensistive nose and what he thought. In these instances I realise that we are almost in two worlds, the world of the eye and the world of the nose. But even so,we share the joy of being there together.
Wonder and silence are both I think dependent on each other. Autumn up here is devoid of many of the sounds which are typical in the area which I live. Only birds low twittering is heard and your own steps in the sprigs and bush weed. The slow pace enables you to slowly take in the beauty and to let it settle in your mind along with a sort of euphoria of the beauty.
It is always lovely to take a long evening walk after rain. The damp air made the sun beams visible. Toby found himself in the light, apparently very interested in something, but all of a sudden he was off again down in the ditch. I love these short moments of beauty which leaves a mark in my soul for a long time.
I walked across the pasture and found the young animals on the hill where a young boy once had a dream of building his own house. A dream unfulfilled. A field still with grass and flowers, witnessing of solitude.
I love the colour of this violet. It is so small that it’s easy to just pass it. But it makes such a beautiful contrast to the white flowers in the forest, so when I encounter with this violet, I stop for a moment to look at it in all its freshness.
There are days when after a lot of visitors you need to get out in an open field and be in solitude. It was a windy day, but the stormy weather created a peaceful silence within me, as if the wind took over my thoughts and brought them to a restful place. During our walk, two cranes passed in front of us, calling as they left and landed in the field nearby.
If you follow a minor dirt road not far from here, which leaves the main road to reach some farms further in, you will pass a house that is left to sleep so deep that soon I think no one will be able to kiss it awake. Lilacs grow over the wide stonehege, which also make up part of a root cellar. Old beeches strech their heavy branches over the narrow road. Beauty for all senses.
About 35 years ago there lived a joyful farmer there who managed this little farm meticulously, in a friendly manner. But old age at last got the better of him and he left this life for the eternal one. A cousin of his inherited the house, but she didn’t care for it, nor the farm, just the idea of owning a property. She has never visited it, just left it there. Nature has slowly made the garden into a small charming wilderness.
During my whole life I have watched how the seedlings that took root by the walls of the house, slowly have grown into trees, how the smaller barn with wooden roof at last collapsed and returned to the earth it was made from. Many times I have stopped there dreaming to restore it to that neat little fram it once was. But there is a fascination of the forgotten one with hidden memories. However, when I passed this time I could not resist entering through the one gate that is still hanging on its hinges.
I sat down in the grass among the old apple trees in the meadow of red and yellow primroses. Nothing disturbed the peace and quiet of the garden. I did not feel as an intruder, more of a guest taking part of a flowers feast.
I wonder if anyone will ever live in that house again, call it a home, sit where I sat admiring the flowers, but not as a guest but considering this place as part of their life. What a happy owner it would be.
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A personal blog of a plant lover
Flores Island · Azores
From Where I Stand...
Wonderer of Nature 