Travelling through landscape, as history. Not human history, but all the stories the trees tell, such colours. They stir, they excite, exhort, it is a time of action, not the peaceful, calming, somnolence of green, but the energy of orange and yellow, the urge to move and to create, the cheerleaders and the path-showers, the spurs to delight.
I walked by the River Tweed from St Boswells.
I wanted to visit the curtains of beech trees on the other side of the pink stone bridge. I discovered these trees a few years ago, one November. But they are later than other trees, they have not yet turned into their final crimson colours.
I crossed the bridge, walked back along the other side of the river, as far as Dryburgh Abbey and the pedestrian bridge. Then walked up the road, where people park their cars before taking their dogs for a walk. I have always taken the path through the woods before, but decided to explore this minor road which leads to the main road and Newtown St Boswells.
There is no traffic on this road, and there is also a path for some of the way, screened from the road by hedges. And so I came across a field of black sheep. All black from the tips of their horns to their little hooves. All in bright sunshine. What a gift!
Black sheep & Eildon Hills
Is your car ready for winter? an electronic sign asks.
A Catalogue of trees.
All you had forgotten
Questionable theory 
Banking on you 
Cat o' nine tails of memory 
Different weave 
Cloud bridge 
Burnt summer 
Oblique reference
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| Darkly loitering |
Comments
Thank you especially for "All you had forgotten."
I've read Beyond the Lion Gate once and want to read it again soon. Hope you received my positive review via Sally Evans. Your writing is illuminating. As an artist, I experience your words visually, emotionally and spiritually.