Stormy skies and sunsets and tadpoles

Only a week till the golfers return, so we've been walking mostly over the golf course, making the most of the magnificent old trees, whose company we'll miss when they're out of bounds again. 

Oh noooo, don't go! 

We did, however, go for a walk elsewhere, namely Splatts Abbey Wood, which is over the back of the local Asda and handy when you're doing a shop (though probably best not to buy ice cream if you're going there afterwards). Splatts Abbey Wood is a Place of My Childhood - more about that here. 

First, though, incredibly fiery shoots from the pollarded trees on the far side of the A4174 ... 

...which remind me of Sylvia Plath's poem, 'Elm': 

'I have suffered the strocity of sunsets.

Scorched to the root

My redfilaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.'

And who lives in a house like this? 

Even Splatts Abbey Wood, tiny and tucked away between the MOD complex and the Hewlett Packard campus, appears to have been visited rather more heavily than usual during lockdown, as the ground was pretty trampled. It will come into its own in a few weeks, when the bluebells come out, but for now there are the surprisingly tall trees to admire and a feeling of space that belies its dimensions. 

Up on the golf course, the weather's been mostly springlike, with lots of signs that winter is nearly over.

Willow coming into leaf

Pussy willow

Hawthorn coming into leaf

Tadpoles!

Celandines

White dog violets

Early flowering cherry

The weather often plays a part in the enjoyment we get from our walks. The skies are endlessly changing, and one day we were up there with the sun breaking through heavy cloud. I don't think I've ever seen such curious, gorgeous light.

Other days it's been stormy and sunny at the same time ... 

... and there's also been a few days of mackerel cloud, which is one of my favourite sorts. 

The award for the birds most in evidence (visually) are the green woodpeckers, which have made several (fleeting) appearances, not that I've managed to take a single photo of them, the buggers. The award for the birds most in evidence (aurally) goes to the rooks and jackdaws, who are most vociferous on the subject of nests and where in the rookery to build them - although rather than interspecies punch-ups, they seem to fall out between themselves. 

Also, goldfinches. A charm of goldfinches in the lane. 

Also, a noticing of trees ... 

Poplar bark, embroidered and draped like fabric

Mistletoe

Catching a patch of blue sky

... and the views from various parts of the ridge. Every time we look, I see more and more that is familiar but that I didn't spot sooner. 

Two former family homes and a photobombing ... jay? 

The new Severn bridge

The old Severn bridge

And sunsets! Even though currently we have to miss Pointless to see them.

And sunsets in the hollowing oak in the meadow. With a following wind, a whole spring-, summer- and autumn-ful to come.

Going home

Last week Facebook drew to my attention to the fact that it was a year since I'd wandered around the heart of Bristol, and I realised that I'd never been away from it for that long before. And as I'm attached to the place, I had to do something about it, and that meant getting up at dawn to go down  for a wander before it was too busy, as much for the puppy's sake as that of our social distancing. 

It was still quite dark when we arrived at Mud Dock, but it brightened as we headed down along Princes Wharf and Wapping Wharf to the Great Britain, although there was a stiff breeze, which made for interesting skies and achy faces. 

The same breeze brought in storm clouds, and although it was only a short stroll, the sky quickly became a lot more dramatic. 

Looking across to Cabot Tower ... 

`    

... and back to Cliftonwood

Cabot Tower, the Planetarium, Bristol Cathedral, the Wills Memorial Building, more of the Cathedral, the lead works chimney

Don't make me go in that puddle! 

A brisk stop-off at Sea Walls  - no ice cream van! - and it was time to go home. All very familiar, but given that we can't go anywhere new right now, enough to tide us over. 

 

Spring sailing into view

The golfers will be back at the end of the month. In the meantime we continue our forays, monitoring for Signs of Spring. Other visitors to the course are less respectful. It's enough to make you long for a packet of paper flags. (I liked the blue Irish one with the golden harp on it best.)

During the last month, we had a very cold spell, followed by torrential rain, and finally balmy days that would have slotted into April quite happily. 

Contrary to her border collie heritage, our puppy Cwtch disdains ponds and ditches, but during the freeze she was persuaded to go out onto the ice in search of the treats we'd thrown there. (Don't worry, the water in this pond is literally a few inches deep.) 

There has been an abundance of hopeful signs that winter may indeed soon be over. Catkins, for one ... 

... and this coltsfoot, which I spotted during the wet spell, defiant in the ruins of last year's leaves. 

Oh, and this is the best thing of all, look, frogspawn! 

The rookery is noisy again, with interloping magpies spotted on a couple of occasions, much to the outrage of the resident rooks and jackdaws, while woodpeckers variously tap and screech with laughter at each other, depending on their species. These crows were engaging in a bit of oneupbirdship (literally) in a tree ...

 

... and here's an early Easter bunny with the foresight to put a fence between him and Cwtch before she even noticed him. 

I found myself studying some of the ancient trees with hole and hollows in them, wondering who lives in a house like this?

Of course, it's a really good time of year to go tree-watching, before they get bored with their own magnificence and start dressing up. 

After her experience with the ice, Cwtch must have thought she could walk on water because while we were trying to get her to dip her paw in, one (somewhat warmer) day, she suddenly took the plunge. 

She was even more surprised than we were, and on learning the true nature of water (duplicitous) has gone out of her way to avoid it ever since. 

Since our days on it are numbered, we've been concentrating on walking the golf course, though that doesn't mean we've ignored the meadow, wood and common, which are our all-year, faithful places to walk in. 

Charlton Common is currently the calm before the storm of spring, when it grows wild ... 

... and the ash at the entrance to the wood is worthy of sustained marvelling. 

As for the meadow, well, I just love this place so much. It's been eleven months since it became part of our physical and psychic landscape, and I can't imagine how lockdown would have been without it. I suppose we would have got through it, but it was a beautiful location for our final walks with Ted, and it's a lovely secure location for the curious Cwtch to explore. 

At exactly the same time that the rising sun has become visible from our bedroom window every morning, its setting can now be seen in the meadow, which feels like a fortuitous bit of synchronicity. 

And some things are just beautiful all year round.