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Friday, 30 May 2014
Happiness
Friday, 23 May 2014
Thursday, 22 May 2014
Things I saw in the woods today, part 80
Elderflowers:
We say in England that when the flowers appear it heralds the beginning of summer and when the berries are ripe the summer has ended.
Pine cones always land upright when they fall on the ground. Why is that?
British meadow:
In this photo are daisies, red clover, buttercups, eyebright and dandelion. Can you spot them?
In this photo is a large dog in a meadow- he is not a wild flower:
Photos copyright SvD.
We say in England that when the flowers appear it heralds the beginning of summer and when the berries are ripe the summer has ended.
Pine cones always land upright when they fall on the ground. Why is that?
British meadow:
In this photo are daisies, red clover, buttercups, eyebright and dandelion. Can you spot them?
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
Things I saw in the woods today, part 79
The first mature fruit:
Summer is galloping towards us as fruit begin to ripen:
Maple seeds- just formed and still immature. In another month to six weeks these seeds will become mini boomerangs that fly though the air with amazing levity (they will lose that reddish tinge altogether):
Holly flowers! That rarest sight! These flowers appear rather quickly and must be pollinated even faster. By Christmas the red (pollinated ripened fruit) berries will become a familiar sight.
All photos copyright SvD.
Summer is galloping towards us as fruit begin to ripen:
Plantain flowers- the leaves are edible:
Friday, 16 May 2014
Things I saw in the woods today, part 78
Hairstreaks, coppers and blues (all types of butterflies)...of which this is one:
Small copper, Lycaena phlaeas (this species was first defined in 1761)
Solitude in a landscape
Loneliness is a big topic in today's society. We seemingly have it all and yet, neuroses, unhappiness, depression and soaring drug use are at record levels - this week it was announced that 700,000 Brits are regular cocaine users and traces of that and other drugs including over the counter pain killers can be found in our water supply.
Picture this: a man sits in the landscape, on a gently rolling hill contemplating his life. This man looks around him and feels a sense of gratitude, a sense of happiness although he has no words to express that feeling other than a passing, fleeting, contented smile falling upon his lips. Although that man may be alone he is relishing his solitude.
We can become so embroiled in our sadness that we forget to retreat not into ourselves but rather away from ourselves. If we were to wallow endlessly in our sorrows we would be incapable of recognising joy. Worse yet, we would be unable to see that happiness however fleeting is a necessary risk that we have to challenge ourselves to feel.
Where we come from is half the journey of where we are headed. One cannot undo the past. Many have become so adept at weeping silently that no one can see their tears. There are those who I observe in church on a Sunday who long after the mass has ended remain seated in the pew, their faces etched with a deep and desperate tragedy, a nanosecond away from the expression in The Scream by Munch. They arrive in church seeking solace and find their tongues subdued, too far gone to find the words to express what they feel. I know some of these people by virtue of observing them every week. Many are married or have families of their own and in spite of this they are overwhelmed in their isolation.
Solitude is that rather obvious thing- an acknowledgement of who we are to ourselves only. Not the public face, not the false persona. But the stark reality which is ours. The realisation that we are full of flaws- aware of a patchwork quilt past which we constantly mended but it still fell apart. No life is ever easy. I am left at times more fragile than the thrush's egg that once hatched remains as delicate as the finest porcelain even though it has become redundant. Each life has value although in despair we can see only the detritus that we think we're worth.
Solitude is that secret place that belongs only to us. Not the TV soap opera version, not the literal translation of the lives of movie stars who we wish we were. Our reflection is the thing we must grow used to liking in order to evade the thunderclap of silence which is loneliness. We read every day of famous people who end up overdosing on drugs or deliberately ended their lives because what they see in the mirror scares the heebie jeebies out of them. The truth is they f....g hate themselves and eventually the lie that is their life, catches up with them.
I was fortunate to see my beloved Uncle Bertie after many years and was struck at how peaceful he is. He feeds the birds every day. His face lights up as the birds fly into the kitchen to steal bananas. Every evening we would sit together, savour a glass of rum and chat about life. My uncle Bertie taught me something valuable- when we pare it all down it's the ability to feed the birds that matters. Just to love. However we can. Put another way, we're lonely because we choose to be. We're sad because we think that's a better option to happiness. We cry because we've chosen not to laugh instead.
In closing, my advice to all those addicted to anti-depressants (that legal scourge of humanity) or the illegal option and who are also averse to laughing out loud is this: maintain a sense of humour at all times and don't let the bastards get you down. Or to quote Scarlet O'Hara: "Tomorrow is another day."
Photo copyright SvD.
Picture this: a man sits in the landscape, on a gently rolling hill contemplating his life. This man looks around him and feels a sense of gratitude, a sense of happiness although he has no words to express that feeling other than a passing, fleeting, contented smile falling upon his lips. Although that man may be alone he is relishing his solitude.
We can become so embroiled in our sadness that we forget to retreat not into ourselves but rather away from ourselves. If we were to wallow endlessly in our sorrows we would be incapable of recognising joy. Worse yet, we would be unable to see that happiness however fleeting is a necessary risk that we have to challenge ourselves to feel.
Where we come from is half the journey of where we are headed. One cannot undo the past. Many have become so adept at weeping silently that no one can see their tears. There are those who I observe in church on a Sunday who long after the mass has ended remain seated in the pew, their faces etched with a deep and desperate tragedy, a nanosecond away from the expression in The Scream by Munch. They arrive in church seeking solace and find their tongues subdued, too far gone to find the words to express what they feel. I know some of these people by virtue of observing them every week. Many are married or have families of their own and in spite of this they are overwhelmed in their isolation.
Solitude is that rather obvious thing- an acknowledgement of who we are to ourselves only. Not the public face, not the false persona. But the stark reality which is ours. The realisation that we are full of flaws- aware of a patchwork quilt past which we constantly mended but it still fell apart. No life is ever easy. I am left at times more fragile than the thrush's egg that once hatched remains as delicate as the finest porcelain even though it has become redundant. Each life has value although in despair we can see only the detritus that we think we're worth.
Solitude is that secret place that belongs only to us. Not the TV soap opera version, not the literal translation of the lives of movie stars who we wish we were. Our reflection is the thing we must grow used to liking in order to evade the thunderclap of silence which is loneliness. We read every day of famous people who end up overdosing on drugs or deliberately ended their lives because what they see in the mirror scares the heebie jeebies out of them. The truth is they f....g hate themselves and eventually the lie that is their life, catches up with them.
I was fortunate to see my beloved Uncle Bertie after many years and was struck at how peaceful he is. He feeds the birds every day. His face lights up as the birds fly into the kitchen to steal bananas. Every evening we would sit together, savour a glass of rum and chat about life. My uncle Bertie taught me something valuable- when we pare it all down it's the ability to feed the birds that matters. Just to love. However we can. Put another way, we're lonely because we choose to be. We're sad because we think that's a better option to happiness. We cry because we've chosen not to laugh instead.
In closing, my advice to all those addicted to anti-depressants (that legal scourge of humanity) or the illegal option and who are also averse to laughing out loud is this: maintain a sense of humour at all times and don't let the bastards get you down. Or to quote Scarlet O'Hara: "Tomorrow is another day."
Photo copyright SvD.
Tuesday, 13 May 2014
Things I saw in the woods today, part 77
Perfect paradise (and that's the hound in there too):
Horse chestnut flowers:
Which in the autumn will turn to this:
Photos copyright SvD.
Friday, 9 May 2014
Sunday, 4 May 2014
Things I saw in the woods today, part 76
The bursting bud:
The camouflaged bee:
Photos copyright SvD.
Friday, 2 May 2014
My latest article on the Huffington Post
02nd May 2014
Baby badger and I. Photo copyright SvD. Sadly, this baby badger had been knocked down by a car and was dying when I found him. Ironically, he died just feet away from his set- some sets are hundreds of years old and house generations of the same family. I walked past this set every day. I held his paw as he gave his last breath.
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