27/8/06 – 28/8/06
In the farmhouse: silence – outside, the rim of the earth across dark stretches of water – far lights echoed in the tide – complete night beyond – we are in here with the full knowledge of the animals without, they present themselves readily by day but now they are just aspects of knowledge waiting to repeat their routines at dawn; occasional silhouettes making their way to the safer ground down by the estuary cross the last pale variants of sky and give the final hints as to their movement –
up in the adjacent tower a set of giant viewing glasses bring many things near (the orange row of lights on the coast road lining the opposite shore; the spinning wind turbines at Workington where the land dissolves; the far stretches of silver mud in the day where the sea-water and land shimmer together) adding to our sense of the remote – by day the tower reveals the close flight of Martins above the farmyard, being exactly at their prime altitude one is filled with a rare sense of proximity as they twitter and urge each other on to greater feats of aerial acumen, they become familiar rather than merely tantalising –
at dusk, Curlews call plaintive on the mud-flats and in the local fields – their pairings camouflaged and delicate except where they stand in long grass and reveal their slow, loping walk and almost ludicrous beak – but theirs is the evocative music of dusk, the one and only sound of place tonight – an aching heart sound, bittersweet, definite and long-lasting – who would want to escape the enchantment of Caerlaverock they ask?
We are witness to young Roe Deer; to gently patient Herons; to the nervous power of a Sparrowhawk; and to the solitary Osprey at the water’s edge, motionless for hours on a vantage post before twilight’s signal gives him grace to move and he flies, matching the waterline East -
In the farmhouse: silence – outside, the rim of the earth across dark stretches of water – far lights echoed in the tide – complete night beyond – we are in here with the full knowledge of the animals without, they present themselves readily by day but now they are just aspects of knowledge waiting to repeat their routines at dawn; occasional silhouettes making their way to the safer ground down by the estuary cross the last pale variants of sky and give the final hints as to their movement –
up in the adjacent tower a set of giant viewing glasses bring many things near (the orange row of lights on the coast road lining the opposite shore; the spinning wind turbines at Workington where the land dissolves; the far stretches of silver mud in the day where the sea-water and land shimmer together) adding to our sense of the remote – by day the tower reveals the close flight of Martins above the farmyard, being exactly at their prime altitude one is filled with a rare sense of proximity as they twitter and urge each other on to greater feats of aerial acumen, they become familiar rather than merely tantalising –
at dusk, Curlews call plaintive on the mud-flats and in the local fields – their pairings camouflaged and delicate except where they stand in long grass and reveal their slow, loping walk and almost ludicrous beak – but theirs is the evocative music of dusk, the one and only sound of place tonight – an aching heart sound, bittersweet, definite and long-lasting – who would want to escape the enchantment of Caerlaverock they ask?
We are witness to young Roe Deer; to gently patient Herons; to the nervous power of a Sparrowhawk; and to the solitary Osprey at the water’s edge, motionless for hours on a vantage post before twilight’s signal gives him grace to move and he flies, matching the waterline East -
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