Home

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0319_Grasses_72

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My Home

is in a thousand things

it is where you are

now, soft asleep

it is

where we lay

years ago, moons ago

when we woke up

at the same time in the morning

facing each others eyes.

Before all this

and still now

it groans in the wind of the hills

and in the aching of lovers lost

and it is in the mourning

and in the living

it is down that street

where the cat fought the fox

it is in your legs

swinging

on the line

it is in

the growing of things

from warm soil

from seed, that grows seeds

that fly away

It rests abroad, in other hearts, too,

forgotten, sometimes,

remembered, often.

It is in trees, green and orange

it is in leaves, new and fallen

and yes, it is in the wind

on the grasses

here now

stroking the lines from my face

I have always been

more at home

in the small moments

of everywhere

than

only in one place

and that,

whilst precarious,

is surely

also

a comfort.

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© C. Rennie 2013

More Quiet Work

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seedheads_b+wB_72

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A lovely quiet time taking these today, although it took ages trying to get a shot I was happy with..and I’m still not totally pleased with some of the focus in a few. I wanted the background blurred but a few more seeds clear..maybe a slightly wider depth of field next time. I may try the lone seeds with the cloth up the wall too – I thought I wanted that separating line, but now I’m not so sure..anyway, it was a good learning day!

I found these gorgeous seed heads in the lane, which begged to be used with the bowl (who still felt he had not had enough attention yet)

Even our lunatic cat chilled out, he was rolling around and watching me all afternoon.

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Summer Shade

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On Saturday, towards early evening, the skies began to clear. The first moment of sun after a month of rain – oh so sweet. Suddenly all was open, and we needed to get out. We drove a few moments from the house and stopped to wander along the lanes.

The light was melting to honey and the air was cool, in a tentative Summer evening way. I walked and wrapped my scarf around my shoulders, looking, breathing. Then, through and into these lonely trees, a moment stopped, the air filled with crackled silence and pine, leaf and camomile..a mysterious lost place to feel close to creatures, they rustled, crept and flew unseen..eerie magic..

When you see the sun, you see the shade..here was both, and ground as dry as dry – only a memory of rain..

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Dartmoor 2

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We were here¬†yesterday, on Crowcombe Hill…oh so beautiful, and such a relief to see a tiny bit of blue sky..I forgot my camera though, so no pictures.

The rain is back again today, but I don’t mind it so much after my trip out. I wanted to have some more hills here, so here are a few more from my trip to Dartmoor the other day..

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I love to watch the distant dots of people in a wild open landscape. There is some primal rhythm to sitting high on a rock surveying distant movements. Something about these tiny marks of humans in wide open spaces endlessly intrigues my eye.

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And then you are alone again.

Sounds carry gently in these spaces – the echo and slide of stones moving underfoot, a wave of invisible laughter on wings across the open grass. The lick of breeze on the wild flowers and bracken. Cows calling to their calves. A birds scattered call.

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The scent of green, rich and clean, imbued with stone..as if it could fill your blood with iron from just a breath.

Sometimes I want to lie down for hours and sink it in.

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Deep in the hills

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I have been walking hills since I was a tiny girl..they are somewhere in my blood. Their strength and certainty always inspires and calms. Their moods and weathers invigorate and humble. Their silence reassures something inside of me. I love to sit on a remote rock and listen for the tiny sounds, the birds, the water, the wind. These are my first attempts to capture something of the mood here..it looks like Winter but actually this is our Summer this year..and still every car park sells icecream..

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Form

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Experiences over the past few weeks have reminded me that the body is a simply a carrier of the soul, each must be nurtured, without each we are nothing. All that we are can be gone in an instant. Each breath is precious.

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