Shropshire lanes

It's been some time since I've been out, so as Joe had pumped Marjorie's tyres up, I went out for a much needed spin. 

Sunday morning is  a good time to cycle, as although the main road looks quiet here, it can be busy, especially at harvest and holiday time.

Off the main road is quieter and takes me up to better views of the far off Shropshire hills. I startled a kestrel, which took flight over my head.

I had brought out art materials, in case I felt the urge to scribble, but the light was quite flat, which makes everything too muted for my taste,  so I settled for snaps.

It was only a short spin, under two hours, what with my stopping every so often with the camera, but it was good to get out. 

The clouds were right, and in the afternoon we had rain. 

Auction snaps

Out of necessity, rather than choice, we live very quiet and secluded lives at the moment. I don't think we've had a day out since Joe's graduation last July. So it was good to get out with Brian-next-door and view a couple of local auctions. This one was selling the contents of two estates. There was the usual hotch potch of mixed lots and items of interest. 

 

 The ubiquitous, slightly unnerving antique dolls were there, of course.

 

It was a very good selection of lots, but I instinctively knew that it would all be beyond my very small £10-£20 budget and there were some serious looking dealers poking about.

Brian enjoys having a good look too, but he is not allowed to buy anything. I told him that Jean won't let him come out to play if he starts bringing stuff home.

So on we went to another small town, driving over towards the Welsh border in the evening rain.

This auction house was rammed. With people and over a thousand lots being sold over two days.

Brian went off to visit some nearby friends whilst Joe and I ventured in. There was a lot of squidging past people and 'excuse me's'. There was also more taxidermy, including a huge and magnificent boar's head and, unusually, an otter, which must have had some age as they have been protected here in the UK for years, I believe. Probably to save them from being stuffed.

Again, I was a bit out of my league here, and there was far too much going on. We headed back home, through the long winding lanes. I've lived in Shropshire for nearly five years now, and have barely seen any of it, what with not driving and having no money. So just to get out of the cottage, love it though I do, was an uplifting experience and I felt my spirits rise for the first time in ages. It's great to get out, even if it is raining. 

 

Birds and blackberries

 

Summer, such as it has been, seems to have flown by. Now the tractors are up and down the lane from dawn till dark, carrying loads of straw and potatoes. Already the fields are being prepared for next year's harvest. 

We cycled out spontaneously one morning, when the sun made a joyful appearance, and headed over to Venus Pool to see what was going on in the bird community.

Quite a lot, as it happened. We settled in one of the waterside hides. 

 

The geese were gathering in numbers - flocks of them have been flying over the cottage regularly, heralding the end of summer with their haunting cries. There were the usual Canadian Geese and a crowd of Grey Geese. Keeping their distance, faraway, were three pairs of Cormorants. A dignified Grey Heron mingled in a rather aloof fashion.

I told Joe how Andy always referred to these birds  as 'grey greasy fishermen', from the way they seem to slink and slide as they are hunting or flying.

There was one unexpected visitor, a Little White Egret.

 

Such a pretty thing, delicately picking its way past the waddling, guzzling geese.

 It's on the amber list of birds, so this was a good 'spot'.

We headed over to the little woodland hide, where numerous bird feeders attract the smaller birds. Nothing unusual here (though I did once watch a rat squabbling with a pair of ducks). The birds do very well here, with plenty of peanuts provided for the Great Tits and suchlike.

One last glance at Venus Pool, with the Wrekin looming in the background, before heading home to beat the incoming rain.  

 Autumn is definitely on its way.

 Joe spotted an old wasp nest in a muddy bank - I have to admit I walked right past it, thinking it was a disintegrating plastic bag.

Exquisite constructions; delicate paper palaces which will gradually dissipate over the season, leaving nothing but a few tiny, desiccated corpses. 

We picked blackberries on the way home; our summer has been somewhat mixed and fruit in general is not great this year.

 But we foraged enough for a crumble.

True to form, the British summer closed in and as we arrived home, the rain was tumbling in from Wales. This was the view from the garden...before taking cover.

 

After a good morning of wandering, and with calories to replace, there was home made trifle for lunch. This baby had my own lemon drizzle cake lining the bottom - which gives it a nice zingy cut though the sweetness of cream, jelly and custard. And, of course, hundreds and thousands.

A little poetic mystery

 

Out with Marjorie the other week, pootling to the Post Office which is two miles away. On the way back, I spotted a notice pinned to a gate post and, as one does, stopped to investigate.

However, it wasn't a planning application for a new housing estate (although that is in the pipeline for this area). It was a Thomas Hardy poem. Rather random, but lovely. 

 The Walk

You did not walk with me

Of late to the hill-top tree

By the gated ways,

As in earlier days;

You were weak and lame,

So you never came,

And I went alone, and I did not mind,

Not thinking of you as left behind.

I walked up there to-day

Just in the former way;

Surveyed around

The familiar ground

By myself again:

What difference, then?

Only that underlying sense

Of the look of a room on returning thence.

  

Pondering this and wondering 'who, what why and when?', I cycled on. And came then stopped.

Another country poem, pinned to another gatepost, with the brooding Wrekin just showing in the background.

A sonnet, by John Clare.

A Spring Morning

THE Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,

In freshness breathing over hills and dells;

O’er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings, 

And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.

Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free

From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.

The happy time of singing birds is come,

And Love’s lone pilgrimage now finds a home;

Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,

And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love.                        

The foxes play around their dens, and bark

In joy’s excess, ’mid woodland shadows dark.

The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;

And every sound that meets the ear is Love.