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.
The aspen has begun to bloom. Just a couple of days ago it still had only buds. Time flies.
There is something wondrous about inhabited farms, even though the fields are cultivated and cows graze in the pasture in summer.
There is such a farm some kilometres from our farm, isolated up between high hills in the middle of a big forest. The view is stunning, enabling you to see firs and pines along the horizon far away. The access road is long and winding, ending in a peaceful dirt road some kilomteres from the main road. In the winter when the farm is completely abandoned, the feeling of loneliness becomes manifest, the dark small rooms with dusty furniture, the windows covered with frost, and the lack of footprints in the snow.
For about 50 years ago a brother and his sister lived there. Too humble a life for many I think. They worked the fields, cared for their animals, seemingly contented with each other’s company, growing old together. Their life changed suddenly when a fire broke out and completely destroyed their home. History and future burnt to ashes.
The only thing that now remains of their home is the ground and the doorstep, nothing else, except for the small adjoining buildings, tells about the home in which they grew up, lived and grew older. Too old to start afresh they moved, still together, hired a house and lived there until they moved to an elderly home. The sister died first. The brother followed her some years after. Their life is as unknown, as their home, untalked of, unimportant to this fast, efficient society. I think though that they are together now, much happier, in joy, their friendship and goodness having an eternal value.
Standing there breathing the atmosphere of silence wanting to revive the farm, but at the same time filled with fascination for its sleep, I realise my own mortality, my own limitation, well aware of that my wish never will be realised. But to be a guest, though uninvited, has its charm, enjoying the peace and the beauty, free to imagine what could have been.
I have a favourite trail. It stretches over fields, pastures, through forests and on country roads. Though not long, it is varied and it also takes me past one of the most beautiful little farms in the area. The house is situated far from the main road surrounded by fields and trees. A river runs next to it and passes an old broken water mill. The farm sleeps, waiting for someone to wake it up.
I have walked this trail for several years, but it always gives me new small surprises, as today. I passed a stone and I noticed the beautiful nuance of the red granit contrasted by the green moss that partly covered it. I kneeled down to catch it on camera. Suddenly I saw not a stone but an old man with green beard. He looked a little stern as if he was, against all odds, determined to stay there for some hundreds years more.
The setting sun shone behind me and gave the moss on the stones a warm colour resembling the colurs on a mild Autumn day.
During winter the brightest colour we have is the blue sky. I love to look at it in all its brightness. But there are other colours to be found which the snow enhances and brings to my attention. When visiting my sleeping little corner of the garden, the rose hips in their red colour brightens my day. Without the snow, they wouldn’t really have caught my eye, beautiful.
In the woods apart from the maturated emerald colour of the firs, the ferns are my favourites. It is something in their light brown colour that is so beautifully contrasted with the snow which causes me to stop and just watch and ponder.
When I set out for a walk, I never really know if the sunset will be outstanding or not. Often I begin the walk some time before the sunset is at its height with bright colours contrasted with the failing light. This cold evening we started walking first to the north and then turned east and then south. The evening was already turning quite dark and we decided to walk across the fields to enjoy the last of the light . Then suddenly the sun said goodbye in a splendid show of golden colours. Speechless one stands there trying to comprehend the beauty, but it surpasses my mind and in this moment solace is mingled with impatience. Solace to sense something magnificent, impatience to not be able to grasp the beauty in its essence, just to watch it from the outside.
There is few things as beautiful as fog in the morning a winter day… A walk that lasted some hours, cold but very beautiful.
I love these lonley roads, especially on Sunday forenoons when people prefer being at home, I suppose taking a long breakfast. There is a silence in the air created, I think, by the low temperature, as if every creature is economising with even the callings to save some energy. Even the thoughts become sparse, the mind listening to the sound of birds flapping and one’s own footsteps in the snow.
Flores Island · Azores
From Where I Stand...
Wandering on trails and places around the coast of Wales
Wonderer of Nature 