When Whitstable gets very busy, those-in-the-know eschew the more popular bits of the beach and head-off towards the West Beach, where you won’t get a pint or a bag of chips, but you will get treated to the impressionist splendour of the colonies of wild flowers covering the shingle. Throw in a few old wooden boats, their ice-cream colours peeling appealingly, and you’ve got a a little patch of painterly perfection.
Another ‘slow-cinema’ impression of the pastoral pleasures of my local landscape, and this time it’s the rapeseed field by Bysing Wood, alive with the buzz of insects and bird song, and desaturated by early evening sunshine.
As the temperature continues to drop, I’m hankering after a blast of Summer heat and colour. Yesterday afternoon, the falling snow went from quick, dry powder to lilting goose feathers, and our small garden was transformed. I took the photograph below from our kitchen door, snowflakes settling on the toes of my woollen socks. Beautiful though it certainly was out there, I couldn’t help but fast-forward the scene before me. The snow has buried the snowdrops and the hellebores, but strange to think all that saturated summer colour is buried out there too, embers, already stirring under the frozen earth.
Whitstable garden, February 10th, 2021