Although I look calm
I’m wilder than I might seem.
So keep your distance.
This is the tail end of the rutting season, a time when the deer are particularly aggressive. But just because they are in an enclosed parkland at Wollaton Park in Nottingham, some people seem to think they are tame pets.
Kept safe on the sand,
The low tide and mooring lines
Keep her from drifting.
Hopefully you are comfortable with the pronoun. She identifies both as a boat and a female, which is why most boats have female names. Except this one, which is a fishing boat and therefore has initial letters to identify the home port followed by a number.
But the real question is what came first? The boat or the mooring as the main point of interest. It was the rusty mooring loop. Now you know.
One man and his board
Waiting for the perfect wave,
Staring out to sea.
On Bude beach in Cornwall, he just stood there for minutes on end, either waiting for a wave (like the ones directly in front of him?) or possibly realising that October in England was a little chilly. Either way it made a decent almost-minimalist shot.
Silently watching
Over wild Atlantic swells.
This dog is my rock.
Or maybe, ‘this rock is my dog’. I spotted this when walking back from Hawker’s Hut and I saw a dog, complete with ear. Since then I have googled and I cannot find any mention of it as a dog rock, or lion rock. I can’t be the only one to have noticed? Or maybe my googling skills are lacking. Actually, it could be that flying lion thing from Neverending Story. Anyway, whatever, it is today’s post.
Drugs and poetry,
The parson’s opium den.
Tucked against the cliff.
One of my problems is I don’t always think things through properly, and end up having to publish two posts in a day to clarify things. So my last post may have been confusing. Is that a bad thing? Well welcome to my world of perpetual bewilderment… So to give context to my last post – this is the full Hawker’s Hut. Named after a local parson, Robert Stephen Hawker(1803 – 1875),who built it from driftwood and timber retrieved from shipwrecks, with a turf roof. Still remarkably preserved, and owned by the National Trust. Hawker used the hut as a bolt hole, with beautiful views over the Atlantic Ocean, where he would write poetry and smoke opium.
Now the previous post makes sense?
A simple door latch,
Access to old Hawker’s Hut.
Secret hideaway.
I will post a photo of Hawker’s hut to give wider context, but I really liked this detail of the entrance. Hawker’s hut is in Morwenstow, Cornwall, in England. It is a Grade 2 listed wooden building, and the smallest property owned by the National Trust. You will see it in all its small but perfectly formed glory soon….
Waves – crash all you can.
I am the storm, shrieked the wind,
Mine is the power.
It has been a week or so since I posted, as I have been away on a short break to the Devon coast. As storm Amy was coming to an end, we made an evening visit to Hartland Quay. The waves were amazing, and even though I am quite pleased with this image, I still don’t feel it does justice to the anger in the sea.
Bridge across the Trent.
A thoughtful gift from Michael.
Hard to gift-wrap though.
A pedestrian bridge across the river Trent at Burton, a centre of beer brewing in the Est Midlands of England. A little flamboyant but it has stood the test of time.
Strong against the storm,
Home for the high and mighty.
But peasants can look.
Is it a castle? Well, no it isn’t. Although it was originally built as a castle after the Norman conquest, it is now a faux-castle stately home located in the Vale of Belvoir, belonging to the Duke of Rutland.
I find it odd that Nottingham Castle very definitely looks like a manor house or stely home, and yet a stately home just a few miles down the road looks distinctly like a castle. But at least we peasants are allowed in the grounds to have a look round.
Russet leaves abound,
The autumn air cold and crisp.
Time to walk the dog.
Apparently this year is going to be good for colour, so hopefully I will get the chance to get out and capture some of it. This image is from the circular walk around the lake at Wollaton Park in Nottingham. And no, I don’t have a dog.
