of snowdrops and molehills

it is not only above the ground that we can see some signs of life flowing back into the cold blue veins of Winter's dead hand upon the landscape. Below the ground some small folk are becoming very active. This molehill is enormous and suggests that the builder was unimpressed by any metaphorical reference to a certain lack of ambition by moles and was single handedly setting out to change the world. In the top picture note the hairy dugong in the Inny.

on the road to Horsebridge

two views of lanes, one to the major metropolis of Pempwell (top), the other (bottom pic) to the ancient bridge over the Tamar (Horsebridge, or Horsa's bridge) across which lies the equally ancient hostelry, the Royal Inn, in Devon, England (Dartmoor is visible on the horizon). Just to the right of the lower picture you can see another of our little finger posts.

the crocus is out

whatever the weather, the crocuses are out. Crocus is also slang for a quack doctor.

frozen spawn

there was a sudden profusion of frog spawn about 10 days ago in every puddle and ditch. Today they are all frozen solid. I hope this does no harm. I doubt it; if they were that sensitive they would never survive the average English Spring.

Down House Snowdrops

snowdrops on the drive to Down House

flow

this picture captures better than most the hectic flow in our little babbling brooks. My friend Brian , who occasionally makes an appearance in the comment columns as the Rationalist, and who is, I have just learnt, the celebrated author of the seminal work on de-umbilification, drew my attention to a passage in the Book of Silence by Sara Maitland which I want to quote in its entirety because it describes what we seek on our walks and occasionally find.

" And there, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, I slipped a gear, or something like that. There was not me and the landscape, but a kind of oneness: a connection as though my skin had been blown off. More than that - as though the molecules and atoms I am made of had reunited themselves with the molecules and atoms that the rest of the world is made of. I felt absolutely connected to everything. It was very brief, but it was a total moment."

For me these moments seem timeless, and above all I feel present and deeply interconnected, the boundaries have dissolved, but it is wordless, pre-verbal; and Spot shares this with me. It is not thought free, in fact it feels deeply thoughtful but wordless, unconstructed, unlabelled. I think it must be how we thought before we used names to crystallise out the world around us, and perhaps is similar to the inner mental space of other creatures like Spot.