Peacocks, Twigs and Conkers...

I have to admit I do so like a bit of a nap of an afternoon, don't you know......
Despite being an annoyingly physically active person.... all boots, rucsac and 'where shall we go next'....I do enthusiastically concur with the notion of an occasional surreptitious siesta.
Its just so civilized.
Those folks who live in parts of the world where the midday heat suggests the sensible daily option is to rise early, retire in the afternoon, and resurface for late afternoon and evening sojourn, seems to me to be an admirable policy and one to be emulated... Climactic conditions a mere excuse.
It often gives rise to very welcome reflective, half dreamt musings as one drifts off into nap-land, the body being horizontal but the mind still 'up and about' prior to full immersion in mid-afternoon repose.

It was precisely so the other day, when I lazily dozed off in an outdoor chair, exhausted by the observation of flittering Butterfly activity on my backyard Buddleia....zzz.....Particularly taken by the colours of the Peacock.....zzzzzzz .....

.....and then for no discernible reason, as I drifted off, my thoughts re-ran an autumnal lake-land walk I had enjoyed with my daughter a while ago..when very little notable wildlife had been seen, dear readers, yet the general appreciation of the beautiful surroundings had instigated some surreal discussion..... the images now story-boarded in my dozing mind... complete with captions.

                      ....a serene start...strange to be walking downhill at the start of a mountain-walk....
                                     

                                           

                            
                                   ....lakeside perambulation pleasantly pleasant as one can see.......

...view ripe for a biscuit tin lid picture....

...ah sweet meandering shoreline of beauteous bounty...as Wordsworth would undoubtedly say...

                                                     

               ...meanwhile..Becki embarked upon 'the search for the perfect twig'...(don't ask, right)...

...which prompted much musing upon the concept of 'the lone-conker'...(don't ask, I said)...

                                       

                                          ...I continued my fascination for all things 'gatey'...

...no, since you ask...I don't know why either...

...however my gate perusal produces a pictorial study of contrasting contrasts via a gateway of gate-age..I shall call it 'Horizon Hinged upon the Shadow'.  It shall win a prize...

...and the search for the 'perfect twig' continues...with some happy results...

...nice swan (s)....

...and this, fellow pilgrims, is an old church lecturn, in an old church, upon which some old God books are placed...a very old church in an old deserted valley...

...this very old atmospheric church was next to a very old Yew tree which had been estimated to be 1300 years old. Yes, one thousand and three hundred earth years as a tree. It started living around 700A.D.....get yer heads round that....

...another pictorial study entitled 'Singular Cormorant of Linear Wing'....(prizes in the offing, clearly.)

...she of the tartan picnic rug smiles as the boat continues to float...

                                             ...if you listen carefully you can hear the sea...

                          ...she of the tartan picnic rug, again, this time windswept and interesting...

                                                   

...I shall call this pictorial study 'Retrospective Poop Deck Paradise'. It probably won't win a prize.

...I then awoke.....a Peacock butterfly perched cheekily on the glass of my Vesper Martini..yet..

the lone conker and the perfect twig sit proudly upon my mental mantle-piece...

             

Paws 4 Thought...

I have only ever once 'owned' a dog.

Before that.....my father had a Springer spaniel, Tess, for a good while, who he lovingly trained as a working 'gun dog'.

She inevitably became much more than this, and was a treasured constant companion to him. ( My father was that odd mixture of genuine, life-long nature-lover...... and shooter ). Many a long day was spent by them both in woodland, moor and field.
Tess happily lived in her specially built outdoor run and 'kennel'...a rather splendid stone-built affair, with sleeping platform, dining area and patio frontage, and Tess became the boundlessly energetic focus for additional long country walks and general doggy activity. The bond between Father and Tess was almost a cliche in its closeness. When he became terminally ill, she too reached the end of her joyous life, and however cloyingly corny it may sound, I like to think of them being together still.....Tess at my Father's heel.......


Later, as I plied my trade as an outdoor pursuit instructor, and my young family and I lived in idyllic rural surroundings, I decided that all would be complete with the addition of a four-footed furry friend.
A hill-farm nearby kindly offered a choice from a litter of Collie 'sheep-dogs'.....and the carefully selected prime choice canine came to stay. But not for long, sadly. An altercation with a passing land-rover put paid to the hapless pup. ( a witnessed event that still brings a jolt of grief).... another visit was made to the farm-yard litter, from which all had been found homes, and so the single remaining, unclaimed runt-puppy was 'chosen', and
as it turned out, this was a happenstance that was to prove to have the best of all possible outcomes.

'Jess' quickly became a member of the family. Over the passing months she patiently grew to accept the eye-poking, ear-wrenching, tail-pulling 'love' of two young children and as well as being a good-natured, bouncing affectionate pet, she readily and quickly accepted her 'training' by me, and in fact became so responsive and adept it was almost as if she was saying " yeah yeah, get on with it, I know all this already". Her natural instinct as a clever and obedient working sheep-dog was evident.

Right from the start,  she would accompany me every day 'out on the hill'.

At first,  as a small pup, riding on the top of my rucsac, and then as she grew, graduating to roaming free when released on command, but always within 'whistle-shot', or patiently and diligently rounding up the stragglers of my led group, or quietly padding at my heel as fellow mountain leader.

Her natural environment was the same as mine, and I shall ever picture Jess flowing up, down and across the hillside, fur, ears and tail breezed back, running tirelessly through heather and gorse, regularly glancing in my direction for orders, or trotting behind me, weaving her way as she shepherded me and whoever else on our way.

Several years of this wonderful, faithful symbiosis was steadily forged between us......and it became the unquestioned norm that Dad and Jess were always out as one. Shaggilly-coated, deeply brown eyed and kindly energetic, ( Jess, not me ), she became the ideal in complete doggy-ness. We all accepted Jess as Jess.

When we, as a family, were obliged to relocate to a more urban environment, Jess's life changed as much as ours, yet she quietly and happily adapted to her more sedate existence, becoming more the home pet as she grew older. On occasions, however, she showed her natural propensity for wide open spaces, by taking herself off for a bit of a prolonged wander in the local fields, being returned by neighbours, or, on one noted occasion, after being arrested and detained at her majesty's pleasure as a vagrant, by the local plod.
Jess became a joyfully smelly and serene old lady of a dog in her final years, much loved and cared for by my now more grown up family, as she padded about the house and garden in constant companionship, habitually warning the postman that he was on her turf, yet tail-waggingly welcoming visitors.
My wife and I had parted company by this time (quick, call Jerry Springer)..and so my contact with Jess became somewhat lessened.....a sad fact, amongst others, that I keenly felt.
Good old Jess eventually shuffled off her canine mortal coil at a grand old age, at home, her head resting on my daughter's lap.

As I said at the start, I have only ever once 'owned' a dog......

Vehicular Vernacular....

Brothers and Sisters.... today's reading is taken from St Recall's letters to the obscure.
Certain odours, sights and sounds can often trigger thoughts of forgotten events and experiences....... Fact.
It would appear that for me however, my personal 'car history' has a similar quality....
Ornithological sightings, outdoor escapades and life's foibles all time-lined in synch with concurrent vehicular presence.
This is by no means a complete list, but simply notes those cars of my aquaintance that appear to spark particular remembrance...the photos make a change from birdies, furries, crawlies and blooms anyway!.....

Family cars....
Austin A30(5?) Van.....Cushions, picnics and daisies....

Triumph Renown......Camping, "Sing Something
                                       Simple" and a Frog in a Green Plastic
                                       Bowl....

     
Austin Cambridge....Peewits, Kestrels and cameras....

Jaguar Mk2....Rugby, verticality and fluospar...

Ford Ghia Estate....Wet dogs and pheasants....

Mazda 626....Oceanic phosphoresence and Ospreys.....

My cars....
A30......Damp velveteen, Jay and hay-bale....

Daf 33....Whinsill rock, Raven and flower-beds...

Series 2 Land Rover....Woodland, Rook and diesel....

Fiat Strada....Grebe, Dipper and sphagnum moss.....

Citroen 2CV......Buzzards, bricks and helmets....

MGBGT......Otters, Mistle Thrush and Dinner-Suits....

Suzuki Jeep....Curlew, Pine and sledges....

Saab 900......Wet-suit, Ptarmigan and sausage....

Volvo 480.....Deer, wild-cat and mouse-shit...

Citroen Xantia...Fieldfare, Eagle and Tobermory....

and more......

....the list goes on and on.....and on......
The concept of 'trigger' and response..discuss....
Results on my desk in the morning please....

The Feet of the Night....

Several-ish moons ago when I was a young teenager, I was often obliged to undertake a late night 5 mile walk that separated my village home from the small country town nearby.
There was a sparse sort-of bus service, (a single old coach), with a couple of runs during the day, but the 'late bus' back each evening was at about 5..30pm in the afternoon...so.

...if the essential attendance of the various social gatherings held by my young compatriots involving exploratory fumblings with alcohol and girls was to be accomplished, I had to resign myself to the fact that, following each evening soiree, whilst my friends were all quickly returned to their nearby urban homes, I was faced with an hour or so's solo trudge along a darkened country road.....

However....these frequent late night meanders gradually became a quietly enjoyed ending to my naively developing social life.
They became a time of rueful reflection on the evening's happenings as I walked along the silent, hedge-rowed lane wrapped in the starlit and moon-washed darkness.
Many thoughts were thought, many verbal exchanges mentally re-visited, and many liaisons re-lived.....a sort of extended precy of the recent chapters....
I often arrived home totally unaware of the physical walk being so engrossed in my cogitations....
Other times I became uber aware of every inch of my foot-stepped journey in the dark-softened night.

I heard the hoot of an Owl as I passed a patch of roadside wood, coupled with the cooing and fluttering of woodpigeon......
I was aware of the occasional body movement of maybe a fielded sheep, cow or horse....

I caught fleeting and maybe imagined darkened sight of a flighted.....what?....
Un-sighted wing-ruffle and twig-rustle in the hawthorn.....
An unforgettable surprise, for both of us, of a verge-side head on meeting with a scuttling hedgehog....

The sky-flitter of maybe a bat by the shadowed barn....

The warm awareness of the star encrusted canopy above me blending with the dimmed and sleeping countryside around me, as I stepped softly along in the muffled quiet of the night.

The whole thing ripped brutally apart by the rare (thankfully) assault of the blaze and scream of a passing vehicle momentarily blasting the scene away....and then the silence gradually and determinedly returning as the scything light and roaring noise recedes.......the timeless natural, all encompassing environment able to ignore and adjust...
I have very fond memories of these nocturnal walks... and more often than not, tipped into my bed after each one perhaps weary but definitely content...and major plus....my mind completely sobered from the effects of the cheap tinned beer consumed that evening

and my clothes freshly aired of the reek of the sneaked Players No 6....