I feel Summer is trying to leave, the garden looks good but something is missing and I watch the mist roll in down the fells casting a veil over things.
The sparkle has gone, the harvest is done the valley is ready for change. The conversations which happen between stone and land and whispering mist as trees chatter between themselves watching on.
The low grey sky almost touches the rushing stream as it runs down the fell – you can hear the songs she sings some gentle, others wild and I am in awe of this landscape which makes me feel so tiny yet a part of something which has gone before
The pale soft grey as the sun tries to penetrate the clouds gives off her milky diluted beams mixing the dark grey of the hills and trees gently move in the breeze. I try to echoes these colours in my work.
Warm cowls with wool and silk married together keeping out the power of a cold wind -the silk and natural inks and dyes from the land adding a soft visionary. We seemed to wait so long for summer this year amid all the fears of Covid and the horrors occurring in the natural world and yet it’s seemed so fleeting and now she prepares to leave. All my grandchildren now are busy being educated and those rare days of exploring with a little one are just a distant memory.