Friday, 26 September 2008

Distant hills


Over the years we have lived here I have found it enormously difficult to photograph our view from the garden – it's all wide and flat, with lots of fields and few features. Today, in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, I have a picture I am reasonably pleased with, recording the autumn landscape, with the Cheviot in the background. On many days each year, the Cheviot is simply not there, hiding behind rain or snow clouds, and its smooth green curves are rarely sharply defined; usually, as here, it's a misty presence against an expanse of sky. A good Protestant upbringing has left me with a store of psalms that are in my head whether I want them or not, and my favourite begins:
I to the hills will lift mine eyes
From whence doth come mine aid...
It was the luscious red of this cherry that drew me away from the accounts today. It's very tiny – both in habit and in size, so the impact is relatively small, but I'm growing very fond of it. In spring it has delicate bronze-tinged leaves and a scattering of tiny pink flowers, so it's a delight all year round.

(prunus incisa Kojou-no-mai)

6 comments:

mountainear said...

A similar sort of upbringing I think - you're quite right about those hymns and psalms:
'Hill of the north rejoice, river and mountain sing.....'

I used to enjoy driving up the M6 and seeing the massive signs which directed one biblically (and rather vaguely perhaps) to The North.

elizabethm said...

I am another one with the biblical phrases ringing in my head and also with the view which defies photography. The head of my blog now is the best I have managed but still seems to me only partial. Love yours though. do you find that living with a view makes you very keen to keep one?

Table Talk said...

GC, how beautiful. I'm so glad you have such a wonderful view to come back to after your London wanderings. Such solace to the soul whatever your upbringing.

Susie Vereker said...

Lovely view. I have a confession to make, I had no real idea where the Cheviot was until I looked it up just now, and I am someone who rather fancies herself as knowing what's what and where's where. I see it is right on the
Scottish border. Have you climbed to the top?

GeraniumCat said...

M'ear, I've always loved those signs too - to me they mean "Home".

Elizabeth, I can't bear the thought of living without a view, I carry that sense of open space somewhere within me.

TT, exactly so!

Susie - the top? good heavens, no, that would be uphill! And it's three coats colder up there. Brrr.

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