On the cusp
31st August 2016
31st August
On the cusp
The end of August is a strange and divergent time of year. It is clearly summer as the temperatures are still warm, but you can sense a change in the air (and it seems so can every other living thing).
The sounds from the woods and hedges is now muted. Regardless of the many flocks of small birds flitting from tree tops, or balancing, circus like, on telephone lines, They do so (ironically) with the minimum of chatter. It is as if they now have less need to proclaim and make fanfare like they did when Spring was young and their lives were full off more seeming urgencies.
At the beginning of August summer gained maturity and with this gathered age the landscape became washed in a monochrome glaze of green vegetation. But, as the month ends the flowers are receding - going 'over' to seed and fruit and there is a predominant feeling of ending.
There is, at this time of year, an almost imperceptible sense of change; a feeling that can oniy be detected at the 'edges,' where a little colour bleeds into the scene.
The Rowan Trees, that pepper the lower valley edges are one of the first indicators. These, guardians of the mountains, sentinels by stream and crag, are now adorned with blood red berries, whilst a their Hazel lieutenants are full of Cob Nuts, hanging like gypsy earrings.
The fronds of the surrounding bracken, that blanket the lower slopes, are the litmus test of season change. Very subtlety the ends of the green, feathery leaves are being drained of their verdant vibrancy, and as the plant shrinks into the undergrowth, each leaf becomes flame coloured at the tips.
On more celestial determinates It's is noticably getting darker earlier and their is a chill in the air when the sun slips past the horizon. The vicisstudinal effect of the change of season is marked out via my view across the wide Duddon Estuary to Black Combe.
This dominating, whale backed mountain is a seasonal touch stone. Due to its position, perched over the flat, golden sands of the Duddon Estuary, Black Combe acts as a seasonal marker, set upon on a huge, golden sand - sun dial. As the year flows forward the position of the sun changes in relation to the profile of this dark Fell.
Changing from month to month, the sun's journey starts by initially sitting on Black Combes' southern shoulder. Then the sun, as Spring gives way to Summer, parades high above Black Combe's head, before briefly touching his northern edge to descend back again to the west by the heart of winter. The sun performs a dance that maps out the seasons, whilst it's dark, somber partner broods on, looking over the shifting, golden sands of Duddon.
"eternity flows in a mountain beck…
He knew, beneath mutation of year and season,
Flood and drought, frost and fire and thunder,
The frothy blossom on the rowan and the reddening of the berries,
The silt, the sand, the slagbanks and the shingle,
And the wild catastrophes of the breaking mountains,
There stands the base and root of the living rock,
Thirty thousand feet of solid Cumberland".
Norman Nicholson
As September arrives we enter what is described as meteorological Autumn. This is more than just an arbitrary date for the weathermen, as it represents, in a very tangible way, a change in the season. Today we stand on the cusp of this transition.
On the cusp
The end of August is a strange and divergent time of year. It is clearly summer as the temperatures are still warm, but you can sense a change in the air (and it seems so can every other living thing).
The sounds from the woods and hedges is now muted. Regardless of the many flocks of small birds flitting from tree tops, or balancing, circus like, on telephone lines, They do so (ironically) with the minimum of chatter. It is as if they now have less need to proclaim and make fanfare like they did when Spring was young and their lives were full off more seeming urgencies.
At the beginning of August summer gained maturity and with this gathered age the landscape became washed in a monochrome glaze of green vegetation. But, as the month ends the flowers are receding - going 'over' to seed and fruit and there is a predominant feeling of ending.
There is, at this time of year, an almost imperceptible sense of change; a feeling that can oniy be detected at the 'edges,' where a little colour bleeds into the scene.
The Rowan Trees, that pepper the lower valley edges are one of the first indicators. These, guardians of the mountains, sentinels by stream and crag, are now adorned with blood red berries, whilst a their Hazel lieutenants are full of Cob Nuts, hanging like gypsy earrings.
The fronds of the surrounding bracken, that blanket the lower slopes, are the litmus test of season change. Very subtlety the ends of the green, feathery leaves are being drained of their verdant vibrancy, and as the plant shrinks into the undergrowth, each leaf becomes flame coloured at the tips.
On more celestial determinates It's is noticably getting darker earlier and their is a chill in the air when the sun slips past the horizon. The vicisstudinal effect of the change of season is marked out via my view across the wide Duddon Estuary to Black Combe.
This dominating, whale backed mountain is a seasonal touch stone. Due to its position, perched over the flat, golden sands of the Duddon Estuary, Black Combe acts as a seasonal marker, set upon on a huge, golden sand - sun dial. As the year flows forward the position of the sun changes in relation to the profile of this dark Fell.
Changing from month to month, the sun's journey starts by initially sitting on Black Combes' southern shoulder. Then the sun, as Spring gives way to Summer, parades high above Black Combe's head, before briefly touching his northern edge to descend back again to the west by the heart of winter. The sun performs a dance that maps out the seasons, whilst it's dark, somber partner broods on, looking over the shifting, golden sands of Duddon.
"eternity flows in a mountain beck…
He knew, beneath mutation of year and season,
Flood and drought, frost and fire and thunder,
The frothy blossom on the rowan and the reddening of the berries,
The silt, the sand, the slagbanks and the shingle,
And the wild catastrophes of the breaking mountains,
There stands the base and root of the living rock,
Thirty thousand feet of solid Cumberland".
Norman Nicholson
As September arrives we enter what is described as meteorological Autumn. This is more than just an arbitrary date for the weathermen, as it represents, in a very tangible way, a change in the season. Today we stand on the cusp of this transition.