Lying in bed, I can see the very top of the plum tree. Last week, it was yellow, and very pretty, and I thought I should draw it. Today, after the storm, it is bare, and I have stupidly missed my chance again; there is never enough time. Autumn, and it’s beauty, is so transitory. I try very hard to pay attention, but to slips past too soon, and now Halloween is past, and All Souls, and we’ve slipped past the veil into gloom season. I went down to the studio this morning, and it was too dark to see the details on my lino properly, but when I went to switch the light on I realised the light was already on, and I return to bed with a cup of coffee.
The jackdaws pass over the plum tree, making a racket of distinctive chattering. They are a raucous gang, picking around the bare fields before wheeling over the house to sit and bicker in the chestnut trees. They fly over several times a day, and it makes me smile every time. They are happy to be around me, but magically disperse any time I have a camera to hand, flying a few feet along the chestnut avenue, perpetually out of reach.
Two weeks ago, in Fowey, in the evening, we watched birds flock; jackdaws, rooks and crows joining forces with gulls, the sky a seething mass of birds. Amidst the cacophony of the spectacle, it was not hard to see where Du Maurier got the idea for The Birds from. The flocks in my field are small in comparison, but I’m still overwhelmed with happiness to see them again when I get home.
On this journal page I wrote in the summer, I say that it is better to like common things, because then one gets to feel the happiness of seeing them daily. If I were madly in love with nightingales, I’d hardly ever feel it. I was reminded of this reading this post on Lev Parikian’s Six Things, which points out when people say interesting, they usually mean something rare, and special, but when you think about it properly, everything is very interesting.
That, and chatting to a friend about how great kestrels are. When I see that magical streak of chestnut brown fall through the sky, my brain will always scream KESTREL! It doesn’t matter that there is a kestrel that hunts in the garden. Kestrels, buzzards and red kites are an everyday sight now, but I catch my breath every time, the same way I will always enjoy how the yellow leaves look brighter against a stormy grey sky, or cannot resist popping a shiny conker out of the silken shell it nestles in and slipping it into my pocket. The red of rowan berries, a magpie feather, the hoot of an owl, a good sunset, a full moon. Frosted seed heads, dew on spiderwebs, dew on the moss growing on garden walls in the morning, the world under the guise of heavy fog. These things will never fail to delight me, but the crows and jackdaws bring most pleasure because I see them so often. It’s good to cultivate delight in small things. One you see often so you pause from your worries and think ‘at least there’s this’. The world is a difficult place. It helps to approach it with as much love in your heart as possible.
Shop news
I start to panic a bit this week because it’s so late and I need to reprint some stock to try and make a few Christmas sales, as it’s not been a great year for businesses. I’m not helping myself by not having my most popular prints in stock, but I’m too obsessed trying to finish this beast. The mind chases novelty, after all.
I’ve listed this miniprint, which might make a tiny gift for someone that likes poppies (or opium, I guess)
It’s on thin paper because the details just don’t print well on thicker paper. There’s a demographic that believes paper quality is linked to its thickness but this handmade kitakata is actually quite expensive and very strong. Buy it Here
Thanks for reading. My Substack is free for everyone to read and share x
Thanks for the mention, Deb.