29th August 2013
Dreamt about searching for direction again. Woke late and worked on a long backlog of edits, watching the clouds cotton the tops of the hills through our bay windows while Jonny wandered to Ambleside. A heron flew lazily over the field outside, looking for fish in the fast-flowing river that runs alongside the lane.
When the cloud lifted, Jonny came home with bread from the bakery and we crossed the stepping stones to find photographs near the water. The heron sat in a tree and looked down at us as we passed underneath, and a woman out hacking on her horse encouraged him through the river. I set up two shots, and while I prefer the composition and the story in this one more than the other I can’t tone the colours the way I’d like. (If anyone wants to have a go themselves, drop me a message!)
Jonny convinced me a walk to Ambleside would soothe me out of a lethargic mood. Our lane winds its way through the hills to the village, following the river past stone cottages and fields of grazing sheep. We spotted wild raspberries under the leaves of the blackberry bushes. While we picked them I thought about the passing of Seamus Heaney today, and the poem of his that was one of the first I ever learnt by heart because of the gluttonous, glottal ‘o’s that I like to catch in my throat.
No branches for playing pooh-sticks on the little bridge. In town, we browsed second-hand bookshops until I found something worthy of my last pound coin, and then drank hot chocolates in a small cafe with weary cyclists. Talked about goings and comings. On the way back, the heron stood guard over the river with the patient eye of a fisherman, and when we walked closer took wing in one fluid beat of its wings and set out for home. A children’s running group jogged noisily towards the village and the mist crept in.