First thing you notice as you leave the road and cross the bridge onto the path is the sound of the beck, the river. The rush, whoosh and roar is everywhere beneath the tree lined track as we begin our walk, slowly fading too a high background ‘ssshhhhhh’ as our route moves away from it.
When we reach more open ground, the fell sounds change. Trickles and bubbles of ghylls meeting culverts and gulleys; streams of water winding their way down the hillside; shimmering clear sheets over stones. Sparrows, blue tits and robins chirp and chirrup from the trees; A pied wagtail on a corrugated roof from the farm below, a wind chime drifts up from the kitchen garden.
Then as we go to round a corner, the sun breaks behind us over Lingmoor fell and a rainbow appears over Pavey Ark and the southern crags and pikes of Blea Rigg. We stand amazed. It’s colours visible from start to end.
The photo is not what we saw, it is never what we saw. What I recall was our wonderment as it appeared, became more vivid, fade slightly, return again. I couldn’t tell what colour the fells really were, what was rainbow and what was not and how fantastic it felt to be here. In all of this.
Grey autumnal Sunday. Warm but no chance of the sun ever breaking through the grey.
Walking towards Arnesby.
Light breeze ruffles the hedgerows but everything is quiet.
One of those days that no matter what camera you use (and these are with a particularly crappy phone cam) the light would not show you the colours. But their subtlety in this light, is their beauty to this eye.
Nearly back home. A glimpse through a window to a window somewhere else.
A Saturday wedding and ringing bells drift from the church, a mile distant, with the wind – rustling the leaves and laying a shimmering percussive blanket upon which sparrows and blue tits lay random couplets of ‘cheep’s and ‘tsee’s. From behind me the constant drone of a combine working it’s way around the fields fades in and out.
There’s a colder edge to the air in the morning. Only two swallows on the telephone lines as I cycled into work, a quieter burbling sound – soon they’ll all be gone to overwinter where ever it is they will overwinter. Africa? Fat mushrooms peek out of the roadside grass, brown frilled egdes, insect mangled domes or just dirty and grey from road debris. The morning’s are darker, night comes sooner.
Seasons’ beginnings and endings change and merge. Last year we climbed hay bales in mid August whilst this year they’re only just bringing them in. Late spring, early winter? We had a glorious September last year. Dry, bright and sunny. Trees have been turning in August in some places, both at home and work the gardens all have a littering of dry, wrinkled leaves.
Autumn’s introduction. Do you notice it too?