Sawfly larva on alder leaf, Helsington Barrows Tall trees gathered the darkness and lightning thrilled us. Flash floods in Manchester. The pitch awash, football was off. Those pulsing skies brought dreams. A charm of goldfinch rose from a bed of thistles, twittering in flight. I tried to bring the image into sharper focus, but I knew I was dreaming. A dream made of memories. Through September I’d been charmed by goldfinch: plunging their heads deep in thistledown, like raindrops beneath a dark cloud, sheltering in a horse chestnut tree so thick with leaves I could see none although I could hear many. In my dream, I reached for the perfect photograph which in reality had eluded me.
I told my dream to my good friend Frances, and triggered hers. I had no idea who had collected her laundry, those immaculately ironed pillowcases. Boris. We laughed at the picture. Cycling across Cheshire in a moment of respite from his duties as Foreign Secretary. For some incomprehensible reason she was cross with him. Such is fame, you never know in whose dreams you'll star.
Next day, a sultry, steamy day, we went to Lyme Park in search of Mr Darcy and the pool where he whipped off his shirt. We second-guessed the ride he had taken home to Pemberley where he was startled to meet Elizabeth Bennett crossing his lawns. He had day-dreamed her into reality!
Next day, a sultry, steamy day, we went to Lyme Park in search of Mr Darcy and the pool where he whipped off his shirt. We second-guessed the ride he had taken home to Pemberley where he was startled to meet Elizabeth Bennett crossing his lawns. He had day-dreamed her into reality!
The sky grew dark and a charm of goldfinch flew up beneath the clouds. Each time rain threatened they flew to the shelter of a leafy chestnut tree.
There are thirteen goldfinch in the image on the left. The two on the right have their heads hidden in thistledown. The experience is charming, the images indifferent.
Today, I strolled Helsington Barrows and was surprised to find an alder- not a tree I’d expect in that habitat. The limestone drains fast, there’s no standing water. Its leaves were ravaged by infestation. I thought upon Frances who has a fondness for alder- the sheltering trees of her grandmother’s garden, whose cones she gave her dolls as sweets. And my eye caught a tiny green caterpillar, leaf-coloured. So tiny, it was tricky to photograph and my camera lens was so close I took care not to knock it off the leaf. The leaves were patterned with holes where larvae had fed and I searched but found no more. I tried to identify it but larvae morph with each moult and I had no success. The tree bore summer seed-heads, and tight catkins already formed and ready to over-winter. And a green insect so minute I can scarcely show it.
Thanks to Rob Petley Jones for identifying the sawfly larva munching on alder.
Thanks to Rob Petley Jones for identifying the sawfly larva munching on alder.
Caterpillar on a leaf of alder. Its colour almost indistinguishable from the leaf on which it feeds, its feet clinging to the rim.
I had barely completed this when I listened to radio 4, 18 September 2016. The King of Dreams. Professor Alice Roberts on the subject of lucid dreaming- a dream in which you know you're dreaming and perhaps you try to control it.
I caught myself in nature writing persona, in my dreams. It's happened before and often, only I'm rarely so aware of the transition from dream to reality and of reaching out to hold onto the words, the image I plan to work with- this image which does not exist because it is made of memory.
I caught myself in nature writing persona, in my dreams. It's happened before and often, only I'm rarely so aware of the transition from dream to reality and of reaching out to hold onto the words, the image I plan to work with- this image which does not exist because it is made of memory.
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