Grey-green

It had rained heavily overnight but in the warmth of July the paths were already dry by the time I set out for the morning walk.  No sun though, grey and overcast, and you had to pay attention and look for the things that make you catch your breath, that make you happy. I'm trying to make a point each day on my walk to find something that does exactly that.  I would almost term it a spiritual practice but that's far too formal and solemn and not what the exercise is about. Today it was the soft, muted grey-green of the trees (willow, rowan, sycamore) bordering the river. 
 
The start of the river path is marked by a group of three tall and majestic aspens. (I do love the French word for the tree: le tremble).   Is it fanciful to say that these trees have an aura?  Well, too bad because they do.  The leaves rustle and quiver, whispering, at the slightest hint of a breeze. I draw breath and relax a bit each time I enter the glade.

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It's Tour de France time again!  I'm a fan. This year it's starting in Yorkshire no less, and ITV4 is as usual doing us proud with its coverage.  I have to admit I watch as much for the fabulous scenery as for the finer points of the race itself but there is just enough jingoism left in me to hope, probably vainly, for a British win.  More than that though I hope that the race is clean.

Exuberance

The exuberance of nature on a sunny spring day is almost overwhelming to my indoor-accustomed senses. The intensity of colour. The smells and sights and sounds.  And the relief I'm experiencing this year in being - just a little bit - out and about and able and willing to take photographs once again is hard to describe.

But today I'm having to deal with a pinched nerve in the jaw after a session in the dentist's chair a few weeks ago with my mouth jammed open too wide for too long, and the change in my bite following a new crown.  The throbbing pain radiating out from the temporomandibular joint set in a few days later after each time I chewed on that side and even sometimes when I didn't.   According to the cranial osteopath, who worked her usual magic on releasing and soothing spasmed muscles and connective tissue, the battered nerve and tissue should gradually calm down over the coming weeks. It's a bit better after her treatment but I still have to be careful how I eat.   Soft foods only on the menu right now. I speak to the osteopath on the phone this afternoon for my reassurance (she's very good at that) and  I'm seeing the dentist again later this week. Gulp. 

In short, facial pain is a pain. Ice packs are at the ready.

So the daily walks are both a therapy and a distraction.  I've acquired a small reference book of British trees. Embarrassing how few species I can name with any confidence, aside from the obvious ones (weeping willow, oak, holly etc.) After rifling through the pages I  think the beautiful specimen above is a sycamore in flower. If I'm wrong I'm sure someone will tell me.


Oh and Mars has turned direct today.  Hooray.
 

Candlemas

Cotton wool balls of snow rush towards the windscreen. The wind whips up the flakes on the road surface into swirling, dancing patterns. White snakes, says B. He drives fast, even in this weather. Oncoming headlights dazzle, dip and disappear behind us.

To the west a hill curves on the horizon. A line of trees on its summit, stripped of leaves, fine drawn shapes against the last vestiges of daylight. The silhouettes are so distinct that even at this distance I fancy I can see individual twigs and the discreet, tumescent buds of spring.