A Green and Pleasant Midsummer

Yet again, my trip to the river has been delayed by bad weather and apathy but I made a point of popping down there this morning after the school run, glad that I had my wellies in the boot because the path from the car park is still very muddy. There is no sun today but it is not cold and, for a while, I was the only person around. I was struck by how tranquil the riverside seemed, despite the cacophony from various birds in the trees. They were incredibly noisy, but in a way that did not disturb the peace. I couldn't tell you if I heard any traffic noise, although the busy A31 is barely half a mile away across the water meadows. The birdsong (and birdsquawk, birdshriek and birdshout too, from the sound of it) created a natural overlay to all other sounds, like a cocoon of nature to insulate the riverside from the human world.

an overcast day but so peaceful by the river, it was a wonderful place to be

It was so calm and still, hardly a ripple in water that was moving quite swiftly:

I love the water - a great place for reflection, introspection and...reflections

I lingered on the bridge awhile, revelling in the atmosphere; so much at peace that I didn't want to leave, save for the urge to take my camera on its first proper tour of my riverbank. With a new zoom to play with I was able to capture different views from those I had pictured with my phone's camera. In fact, the camera now has better eyesight than I do! I was a little disappointed that the local Swan family didn't bring their cygnets closer as, even with the zoom and the bridge rail for support, the zoom still wasn't quite enough for a good shot. However, that does give me more reason to come down to the bridge frequently in the next couple of months - I would love a good picture of those babies.

Moving on, I paused at my usual bench, so overgrown with nettles that I misjudged my usual shot - now I'll have to go back again! There were so many things I wanted to snap that it was hardly a wasted trip and I was able to get some pictures of the river that I really like. I am particularly fond of reflections that show the trees on the bank, framed within the river itself:

and the energy in the turbulent water, beyond the leaves, which, though relatively motionless are still skittish in the breeze:

Finally a couple of shots from a new vantage point, the cliff-like bank between the bridge and the car park, so recently submerged and part of the river itself, it is now several feet above water-level again but lets me feel as though I am on the water itself:

My midsummer pictures are not, as I had once thought possible, of a scorched bank and depleted stream but of a calm, tranquil, lush, green place of peace. I love it.

Red, White and Blue

I love a bit of colour in my surroundings and seeing colourful flowers around the town will really cheer me up when everything has been dull and grey and wet for so long. It's not always flowers that do the job though, this morning had a beautiful display for me when I saw the sun shining through this red-leaved tree, turning the dark plummy leaves into a glorious stained-glass crimson:

The town is full of red white and blue decorations at the moment for the Jubilee celebrations but there are examples of these colours all around without having to put up bunting. The white of the hawthorn has already fallen, like out-of-season snow, but these luscious white roses were tumbling over a wall and just asking me to take a picture.  

For blue, you only have to look at the intensity of that sky, my favourite source of blue all year round. The bluebells have gone now but there are some tiny blue flowers in gorgeous dense clusters on several bushes.

Bunting for the Jubilee? No need, the town has it covered already!

After the Flood

The water levels have finally subsided and I have been able to return to the Stour, taking a brief but very enjoyable walk there after the school run this morning. The car park and access to the bridge was still very muddy but the path was finally accessible.

I may have missed out on April but I've managed to get my May picture, which will now count as my Spring contribution to my riverside series. The trees aren't all out yet but they are greening up nicely.

The willows have come along nicely since my last visit, with the willows fully leaved and the catkins now resembling clumps of wool

 Finally, as often seems to happen, I couldn't resist taking a picture of the sky reflected in the water; the sun not just peeking through the clouds but tearing great holes in them to get through and cheer up the soggy landscape.

Drought in Dorset

I have been trying to take monthly pictures from the riverside footpath by the Stour, near Eye Bridge, to follow the changes in the view through the year. My plans went a little awry, however, when April was so wet that I didn't venture out until the end of the month and then, when I made it to the car park, I was greeted with the following sight:

 not much chance of making it to the footpath, since the path was underwater!

Sometimes missed opportunities come with alternatives. My riverside photo project will have to be adjusted to a seasonal series rather than a monthly one but high water levels on the Stour often result in more photo opportunities.

Within a few days the Stour had, indeed, burst its banks. It is a regular occurrence, sometimes happening two or three times in a year, but the view from Julian's Bridge is usually quite spectacular when it happens.

from Julian's Bridge, looking South towards Merley

South-West towards Corfe Mullen

West, towards Cowgrove and Eye Bridge

North, towards the Football Club

The field by the river - no sheep here now!

The field by the river, ripples by the fence wire show how fast the water is flowing into the field.

All this, while the area was still officially in drought!

Spring

Such a cruel tease, is Spring; she taunts us, flaunts her buds and leaves, makes us want her, need her. She raises our hopes, we who needed warmth and sunshine after a long, cold, dark winter. Then, just when we think we have her, she turns and bites us, with sudden vicious frosts, grey days and rain.

A fickle season, we long for her, we yearn for her touch and then she comes but she is no summer; Spring is growth and awakening, not just the sunshine that we dreamt about but the rain the gardens need. So out come the wellies and umbrellas. You want your April showers to wash my hopes away? No chance! I shall go hunting for rainbows instead.

Skeletons in the Garden

At this time of year, everyone is eagerly watching out for all the leaves and flowers that are popping up all over the place. I am certainly enthusiastic about every little splash of green in the hedgerows as nature comes alive again. Before clearing out the flower beds completely, I just wanted to catch the remnants of last year's greenery.

I acquired some poppies in the last couple of years, presumably imported via the local birds. They provided a lot of welcome colour in the garden so I left the heads behind when they finished flowering, as much to allow the seeds to spread as through laziness. All that is left now is a skeleton army, crowned empty cages where the heads used to be:

In their own way, these empty heads are every bit as beautiful as the flowers they used to be.

It's Raining Again!

It was a very soggy school run this morning but I still enjoyed the walk, the rain on my face was really refreshing and was far more effective than the coffee I'd had when it came to making me feel more awake. I hadn't expected to find any good pictures today but then I spotted a Christmas tree ornament dangling from a still-bare tree, which made me smile and, of course, I just had to get the camera out:

Returning to the car park along the riverside path I saw nothing inspirational - until I was almost back at the car. Instead of seeing puddles on black tarmac, I saw a mirror, reflecting the trees ahead of me:

My final picture was taken from inside the car, looking out of the windscreen through the rain; a simple scene that we see so often and never notice, I love the way that the water distorts the view to create an entirely different picture, making art out of a miserable view.