changing skies and skylarks all the way
diary - eight
Earlier this year my dad took on the potentially sisyphean task of clearing our top meadow of docks. For around a month he spent every clear afternoon tirelessly pulling up the leafy stalks and hefting them into slumps at the edge of field, ensuring they were out of the way before they spread their seeds. In one patch, under the oak tree, he found a nest. A clutch of tawny eggs safe in the shade of the docks. He left them well alone, kept his distance, returned two weeks later to the tiny screech of nestlings. I went up the next day to look, but they had already fledged.
I’ve been trying my best to outrun the midsummer malaise, mostly by walking until I’m too tired to think about much. Lately I did a length Offa’s Dyke, from my house to the next town over. Its a stretch that elevates you, skimming the ridge of hills that seperate England and Wales; its a steep hike to start, but then you’re up in the crystalline sky. Once I reached the peak - which is the next field on from the one my dad had lately cleared - I saw this little skylark. He braced for a moment against the wind before ascending, flinging himself upward into the thin bright air. I like to think he was one of the fledglings I had missed seeing in the nest.
I didn’t meet a single person for the whole seven miles, but the skylarks’ song accompanied me all the way.
The Event of the Year is upon us (my very small town’s open studios) and the gentle frenzy has set in. My studio descends into chaos as I attempt to bring into being every idea I’ve had all year in the space of three weeks. Here’s a handful of newish work:
If you would like to come and see it - and me - in person, I will be exhibiting at The Old Bookshop Gallery, Presteigne, Mid Wales August 22nd - 25th, 11-5.
Love always,
Kitty