Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
might have been written for today. Perfect for drying the washing, but otherwise a bit blowy.
But it was William Blake’s
green and pleasant land
we enjoyed East over the weekend.
Despite a notable lack of rain over the last few weeks, the fields are lush, and every lane, every hedgerow is bursting with life and colour.
East Anglia’s flat landscape and big skies are made more dramaitic on windy days, and even small rises in the ground give views for miles.
It’s horse country, the more so near Aunt’s home where agriculture gives way to stud farms. There are horses in the field by the marina too, but they are family pets, not future runners at Newmarket.
The journey home takes me past another type of farm, a wind farm. The blades large and stately, moving in slow circles against the sky.
A solar farm has been added to this; row upon row of panels upturned to the shifting sky. But I drive on without taking photos, so those pictures are only in my head.
Newly ploughed fields with their rounded ridges remind me of Mother’s comment when she received her special mattress to relieve pressure. Like sleeping on a ploughed field, she said.
I drove by bluebell woods too, and the geese were already parading their goslings by the river.