349 In an English place called Hallow

img_20161030_104934957 img_20161030_121418787  img_20161030_120114879_hdr img_20161030_121807053 img_20161030_122135632_hdr img_20161030_124121144 img_20161030_134523788 img_20161030_134541850

The Colour. The Form

When we take to Nature in our path, passion inspires the action to explore the bewitching power of tree and field. In one day, such ramblings through fields, by canals, rivers, woods or hills, is a powerful tonic to strengthen our physical, mental, social, emotional and social wellbeing.

As we meet Nature on its terms, it is its evolution, adaptability, survival and transformation to which we become more sensitised towards each week.

Today we are in Hallow. Its form is rich and vibrant in Autumnal pigments, but the weather hangs. Summertime is now past as its last hour went back today  and now within the sheer indifference of a grey sky, the dampness of Autumn clings like the mistletoe on Hallow’s famous popular trees. Fine films of cold moisture glaze grass, bark and leaf,  bare clods of clay stick awkwardly underfoot.

As the grass of Hallow stills, true Autumn comes to pass. In the absence of motion, there is spellbinding complexity at work.  Within simplicity of hush, silent conservation over quiet conversation, is the season’s dutiful role. Nature’s AEM,  Annual Energy Meeting of leafy yellows, reds and browns,  now gather to report on the ground before sinking below it for their next life.

Sleepy Hallow. The magic begins and we become enchanted.

Hallow = Holy

Bransford Bridge, near the small village of Hallow, SW Worcestershire, England



© 2016 La Floralie 2



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