Spring's Symphony
27th March 2016
27th March
Spring's Symphony
"Out on the lawn I lie in bed" W.H. Auden
There is a change occurring all around and as each day passes a new layer of texture and complexity is added to the scene.
My recent sojourn into the hills and valleys of the Lake District has been accompanied by an ever changing and deepening assault on the senses. Visually the range of colours are broadening from the winters washed out browns to now include bright, sun reflecting yellows, pulsating purples and pinks, all creating tonal variations and layers to the scene.
The new group of performers have started to tune up and practice their scales - snow drops providing the baseline to Daffodils and Celedine, whilst early chords and melodies of Golden Saxifrage and Coltsfoot are now ascending through the drone tones of Dog Mercury and Wild Garlic. All preparing for the other players to join them in a crashing crescendo.
Although the world is still bearing the drab cloak of winter, every day brings new additions to the scene. A more intricate tapestry of colour and sound is being woven and gently spread across the land.
Every tree and bush is playing host to a company of energetic and frenetic thespians. These actors, in the guise of kings proclaim their 'right' over all they survey. Thier procolmations are made from the tops of crags and trees - chirps and cheeps that state their power and dominance over their kingdom and they are prepared to fight off every potential invader or King in waiting.
From the wild, rocky upland of Upper Eskdale, where winters grip clings to snow covered buttresses to the gentle pastoral lands of the Rusland Valley; and from the wide open, barren landscape of Bethscar Moor, there is a restlessness behind the stillness.
As cold winter waters tumble and fall from the Kentmere Fells, the Dipper has heard the advancing drums of Spring, and now makes syncopated flights up and down Hagg Gill, marking out his territory to the rhthymn and beat of the stream. Although his land is surrounded by bare, steep, scree covered slopes, the crash of waters over each rock carries a message that soon the bracken and mosses will grow and soon the all important insects will return.
Just like the Dipper, the red breasted and pioneering Stone Chat, seen high on Bethescar Moor (early returnee to these high moors) now publicly and noisily announces his participation in the cycle of life. The Stonechat is the seasons percussionsit as he sits atop the almond scented gorse bushes of Bethcar Moor, beating out a rock clinking song.
Then over in the mountain amphitheater of Moasdale, a Peregine rehearses their soprano inflected aria amongst the steep valley walls below the tumbled verticality of Crinkle Crags and the high buttresses of the summit of Bowfell. The Peregrines song is punctuated, alarming, bringing a sense of drama to the landscape. Before, quiet, calm - now the air is charged and the pulse is racing as this grey streaked creature merges from the very rock to thunder across the land like a jet fighter.
Further down the valley, overlooking fields that are gradually filling with the baying of newly born lambs, two Buzzards sit upon a stone laid wall. Like statues on the marble pillars of the gods, these animals demand attention and hold a tacit power. On approaching they seem to pay little attention, but eventually (with little perceived effort) lift off with a nonchalance that seems almost a rebuke.
Spring doesn't come at once but arrives in a series of layers. Just like filters applied to a digital photograph, each day Spring brings a new colour, added depth and a greater complexity to the landscape. Each layer adds a scent, or another chord and melody to soundscape. As each day passes these 'sensory layers' strengthen and becomes louder - from solo to full symphony.
With the approach of Spring, the seasons' company of performers, with their various musical instruments, from viola to clarinets, flutes to trombones and drums to cymbals have started to arrive. Theirs is the symphonies, operas and folk tunes of the new year as it visually and sonically regenerates.
"...Enchanted as the flowers
The opening light draws out of hiding
With all its gradual dove-like pleading,
Its logic and its powers"
Summer Night (WH Auden)
Spring's Symphony
"Out on the lawn I lie in bed" W.H. Auden
There is a change occurring all around and as each day passes a new layer of texture and complexity is added to the scene.
My recent sojourn into the hills and valleys of the Lake District has been accompanied by an ever changing and deepening assault on the senses. Visually the range of colours are broadening from the winters washed out browns to now include bright, sun reflecting yellows, pulsating purples and pinks, all creating tonal variations and layers to the scene.
The new group of performers have started to tune up and practice their scales - snow drops providing the baseline to Daffodils and Celedine, whilst early chords and melodies of Golden Saxifrage and Coltsfoot are now ascending through the drone tones of Dog Mercury and Wild Garlic. All preparing for the other players to join them in a crashing crescendo.
Although the world is still bearing the drab cloak of winter, every day brings new additions to the scene. A more intricate tapestry of colour and sound is being woven and gently spread across the land.
Every tree and bush is playing host to a company of energetic and frenetic thespians. These actors, in the guise of kings proclaim their 'right' over all they survey. Thier procolmations are made from the tops of crags and trees - chirps and cheeps that state their power and dominance over their kingdom and they are prepared to fight off every potential invader or King in waiting.
From the wild, rocky upland of Upper Eskdale, where winters grip clings to snow covered buttresses to the gentle pastoral lands of the Rusland Valley; and from the wide open, barren landscape of Bethscar Moor, there is a restlessness behind the stillness.
As cold winter waters tumble and fall from the Kentmere Fells, the Dipper has heard the advancing drums of Spring, and now makes syncopated flights up and down Hagg Gill, marking out his territory to the rhthymn and beat of the stream. Although his land is surrounded by bare, steep, scree covered slopes, the crash of waters over each rock carries a message that soon the bracken and mosses will grow and soon the all important insects will return.
Just like the Dipper, the red breasted and pioneering Stone Chat, seen high on Bethescar Moor (early returnee to these high moors) now publicly and noisily announces his participation in the cycle of life. The Stonechat is the seasons percussionsit as he sits atop the almond scented gorse bushes of Bethcar Moor, beating out a rock clinking song.
Then over in the mountain amphitheater of Moasdale, a Peregine rehearses their soprano inflected aria amongst the steep valley walls below the tumbled verticality of Crinkle Crags and the high buttresses of the summit of Bowfell. The Peregrines song is punctuated, alarming, bringing a sense of drama to the landscape. Before, quiet, calm - now the air is charged and the pulse is racing as this grey streaked creature merges from the very rock to thunder across the land like a jet fighter.
Further down the valley, overlooking fields that are gradually filling with the baying of newly born lambs, two Buzzards sit upon a stone laid wall. Like statues on the marble pillars of the gods, these animals demand attention and hold a tacit power. On approaching they seem to pay little attention, but eventually (with little perceived effort) lift off with a nonchalance that seems almost a rebuke.
Spring doesn't come at once but arrives in a series of layers. Just like filters applied to a digital photograph, each day Spring brings a new colour, added depth and a greater complexity to the landscape. Each layer adds a scent, or another chord and melody to soundscape. As each day passes these 'sensory layers' strengthen and becomes louder - from solo to full symphony.
With the approach of Spring, the seasons' company of performers, with their various musical instruments, from viola to clarinets, flutes to trombones and drums to cymbals have started to arrive. Theirs is the symphonies, operas and folk tunes of the new year as it visually and sonically regenerates.
"...Enchanted as the flowers
The opening light draws out of hiding
With all its gradual dove-like pleading,
Its logic and its powers"
Summer Night (WH Auden)