There is only the slightest breeze here on the lane. Colours are clear and bright. Shadows are deep but reassuringly still with no hidden portents of Autumn. On a day when the sun is shining and even George the cat is looking for shade it’s hard to believe there is anything wrong in the world. Thistledown drifts across, landing where it is taken and landing lightly the seeds will eventually drop onto the earth and, hopefully, a new thistle will appear.
Ragwort brightens the edge of some of the fields. Some people like it others don’t. It depends which part of the argument you follow – like most things. Meadowsweet is blossoming everywhere with its creamy coloured and lightly scented blossom. It can be seen among the long grass with the small yellow flowers of the nipplewort while in the shaded areas the cool pale pink-Robert and the rusty coloured flower of dock provide a perfect image for painting.
Then quite suddenly I can hear the high pitched mewing sound of a buzzard and overhead in the hot blue sky it can be seen circling. George moves closer to the house and protection. Danger, real or imagined.
Being on the lane at the moment is being in a liminal place. It is a thin place where one reality can merge with others. At least that is the way it feels. The natural world holds us in a form of sanctuary for which I’m glad when I look at the news. It is grounding.
In my novel, The Lost Garden of Baltarran a garden is created which becomes in many ways a sanctuary for those who are connected to it but nothing is perfect. And so in my novel there is love and beauty but also danger and heartbreak. There can never be one without the other.