Nature/Wildlife Tag

29 Oct

Posted at 19:57h in Sarah's Journal by

Here lies an unpicked harvest. Nature’s bounty falls to the ground for wasps, now drunk on fermented fruit. Even the birds have had their fill. City people too busy or unschooled in nature’s kitchen to plunder fruit trees, let it rot. Trees rely on mammals and birds to eat their fruit. The seeds are designed to be returned to the ground in a neat parcel of manure to assist propagation. My poo – it’s fertilising power untapped – flushes from sewer to pipe under the city until it reaches sewage treatment works then canal or river before it flows down to the sea. The majority of crab apple seeds will rot and be swept

27 Oct

Posted at 22:58h in Sarah's Journal by

After a month of rain and grey sky draped like a blanket over everything, mushrooms are popping up. Stems grow like teenagers’ legs in a growth spurt when you’re not looking; they appear as adults overnight. Firm fragile fungal flesh a paradox of sturdy enough to break through soil, yet soft enough to fracture on touch. Beneath the grass a hidden world of mycelium grows and spreads, fertile soil for nature’s opportunists. I lie to squint at delicate gills of warm neutral tones. I stop to peer under bushes, examine small canopies. I notice teeth marks at the edge of one fleshy mushroom and wonder who the nibbler was.

27 Sep

Posted at 18:33h in Sarah's Journal by

Herbal blends are neatly sealed in printed packets containing one-mug bags. The long-gone choice of peppermint, chamomile or rosehip has been replaced with branded states of mind like ‘Feel New’ and ‘Love’. Taking a snapshot from my memory of childhood and comparing it to now, I find gaping holes in my culinary and herbal know-how. We split and sprinkled the seeds from rose hips into unsuspecting boys’ collars as itching powder. I don’t know how to make tangy, vitamin-rich tea, so I check. Pluck hips after the first frost (for sweetness) from a rose bush uncontaminated by pesticide. Top and tail each hip. Steep 4-8 hips in boiling water for 10-15 minutes for high potency tea.

24 Sep

Posted at 20:41h in Sarah's Journal by

Sunlight dapples through the lobed emerald green leaves. The oak inspires me to be strong, to stand tall. In these days of polarities and politics, I think of the oak, which marries the curvaceous with the linear. In this young oak is the potential for great ship hulls to be carved. For me the oak teaches us to sail safely through storms, to hold troubles lightly, to endure, to think in deep time lines.

21 Sep

Posted at 10:41h in Sarah's Journal by

It is a perfect Indian summer’s day with blue sky and sunshine to frame the pylon. This now shorn meadow is a piece of my favourite urban wild landscape. Like a Constable painting, green blue and ochre contrast with one singing pixel of red. The abandoned scarlet sleeping bag – left by a recent tent dweller – a hint of dystopia. Yet this is a place of refuge for me. I come here to expand my chest, to ruminate. It is the place I imagine being scattered if I am cremated. It’s local, easy to visit and natural enough to elbow out the encroaching pressure of east London.

11 Sep

Posted at 22:40h in Sarah's Journal by

Early memories of childhood include examining the flowers that blossomed in the neat borders of our house. This was one of my father’s passions – his collection of perfectly formed flourishing flora. I gazed then at the complexity and precise beauty of a passion flower. The symbolism adopted in the middle ages by devout priests in the Americas will have suited his piety. For me, their form symbolises nature’s brilliance her razzle dazzle mating ritual and extraordinary microcosmic architecture.

05 Sep

Posted at 16:57h in Sarah's Journal by

We arrive just after the fall. A narrowboat’s passage is blocked. Boating seniors on holiday consider their options mid-stream. This is not an obvious weather-related event. On the bank is the fresh wound – trunk torn with stress fractures. My mind’s ear hears the creak of wrenched wood and tumbling branches heavy with leaves, then the splash! I am haunted by the absence in my vocabulary. I cannot name the tree with its unevenly serrated orbicular leaves.

04 Sep

Posted at 19:24h in Sarah's Journal by

Autumn has arrived on the marshes. Sloe berries are fat enough for hipster foragers on bicycles with their shoulder satchels full of berries. The sky is dappled; grasses and leaves are tinged yellow. How long do we have until we’re out of time? The dandelion clock is briefly whole, with its perfect interlocking sacred geometry.

02 Sep

Posted at 18:03h in Sarah's Journal by

I pass a small garden in my urban neighbourhood where flowers flourish. It brings me joy. One dahlia, a flamboyant burlesque artist in silky yellow petals shimmies on a long stem. A supporting cast of country garden flowers encourage its sensual display.

26 Aug

Posted at 20:49h in Sarah's Journal by

Four hands sweep in unison across one after another back, shoulders, calves. We know the rhythm of each other as we kneed together. Then it is our turn to be stroked, by an emerald green cricket eager for the residue of jojoba and sweet almond oil. It tends to me, its proboscis tickles my skin.