Brambling

Sep. 26th, 2010 07:16 pm
missingopossum: (Default)
I've got terribly distracted cycling along the line of the old light-railway and started brambling. My fingers are stained a purple so dark as to be almost black, and so are my lips. I (and others both two-legged and four) have kept this section of bramble-hedge picked carefully bare over the last few weeks but the few days just past have been the most perfect bright dry autumn I can remember, and the sun has ripened more than enough of a new crop to satisfy demand and keep me happy for a good few minutes at least.

I scan the hedgerow, looking for the next ripe one; there's the sharp green of the completely unripe, blending into the leaves. Scattered here and there is the glowing, translucent red of those I'll not be eating till next week. All of these I pass by, of course.

more brambling here! )

I lose track of time amid the close concentration of the search and the carnal pleasures of tasting each sweet berry while basking in the heat. Eventually, though, I find that I've picked the patch bare of the finest and ripest and finally move along. Brambling is done for today – but not yet for the season. I'm glad to say.
missingopossum: (Default)
Today I am sitting in my favourite cafe (also known as my surrogate living-room; cost notwithstanding I do treat this place as an extension of my living space!) looking out of the window and watching the world go by.

The weather in Scotland is famously unpredictable; it is also often quite beautiful in that very changeability. At least I find it so, but I'm not entirely convinced that people who spend any amount of time here don't often end up developing a sort of Stockholm Syndrome with regard to the weather, a kind of expectation that the harsh treatment is desirable.

Today I watched as the heavy grey overcast gave way to the most beautiful golden slanting autumn sun simultaneous with a shimmering light rain shower. I could see every tiny droplet catch the light like a shining silver veil across the ordinary street-scene. The greens (and there is a lot of green here, gardens and trees and all) positively glowed as the low autumn sun turned them into a sort of natural stained glass window, and the rain-wet concrete turned from grey to a mirror-like silver. The first golds of autumn are just starting to show in the birches; they're mostly still green, just poised exactly on the cusp between summer and autumn, and that golden autumn light reflected that transition perfectly. Quite, quite beautiful.

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Missing Opossum

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