Wednesday was a walking and wondering and gathering materials day. I took old paths that carried many memories and it was interesting experiencing them in the skin I inhabit now. Time passes, who can say how long or short a moment is but a moment is easily lost if it is held too fast. So, it was a walk peppered with reminders of a bygone time but, somehow, new too.
There was barely a soul; a couple of women walking together, and a man and two dogs who were as surprised to see me as I was them. And the only sounds were birdsong and insects and breeze. Sweet country smells, cow parsley, hawthorn, grass along the way. And, quite fantastic, a green hairstreak butterfly. I have longed to see one for years, I never have before, and I maybe never will again. Bungay magic quickly drew me back into it's spell.
The waymarker I photographed in 2010 is changed. A clump of the sack is still fixed to the branch and a few threads hang from another branch close by. The black dog that guards the farm still guards the farm tho' he looks a little stiffer now.
The fields of rape are all in flower, the yellow vivid against the green hedges and blue sky. The blades of wheat are just grown to half height. The larks sing, and the swifts swoop and dive over the fields. And the lone oak on a familiar hedge-line still stands tall in it's solitude.
I noticed that the bluebells are english bluebells, it seemed odd that I had not clocked this before, it's so easy to be blind. And my heart lurched out of my body at the sight and then smell of a dead fawn by the side of the path up the hill to the field. Life is fragile.