I
think I have finished my entry for the Taberbacle open art competition. It is hard to know when to stop and I wanted the crows to have a black-hole look; not too intricate.
For those who have not seen previous posts; I had been driving along the Wingfield straight. The hedgerows had just been cut and as I slowed, some crows in the field caught the wind and soared in an arc above the skyline. It is this I have tried to catch using a Fibonacci spiral.
Of course, as always; my photography skills are completely useless.
The weather forecast was right; south west England has been enveloped in a shroud of fog. It must be warm air colliding with the damp ground after our winter chills.
The fog has a wonderful softening effect despite the increasingly shrill chatter from the birds finding a mate and the traffic of frogs looking to spawn at night.
The same weather gave rise to this painting done a few years back; set in the woods with silver birch set against the foggy backdrop.
Isn't there was a famous saying about the Romans finding England to be a land of mists and ghosts? I can't find a reference to it on line.
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| Dog's Mercury - a common woodland plant - poisonous |
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Primroses
from the Latin Prima Rosa - first flower |
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Now, because of the fog which has persisted up until the evening; and if you are up for a ghost story, read on.
It is not very exciting (almost tedious), but it is true and happened to me a few years back in the next village.
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Please note: I was going to read you my story as it is already quite boring; but my daughter sabotaged it several times.
(See the end of this for the out-takes)
I do not believe in ghosts in the casual sense. I am not a religious person and do not believe in an after-life. In fact, at the time of this story, I had not long completed a science course at university, so had brain-trained to be quite analytical. (I have lost this now).
I had started work part time in an old building on
Rode High Street. It used to be the stables for Fussell's Brewery, when they still delivered by horse and cart.
The workshop has a red brick frontage with a hanger type building at the back; a small front door opening on to the street and a large double door to the side (large enough for a horse and cart to drive through).
We made plaster of Paris sculptures, wooden candles, candles in the style of ancient Greece. It was a cold building with no telephone or heating and lots of wicker baskets; and I loved it. (It was so different to the office jobs I had before). I was often alone in the building and, as if in an effort to make this story less credulous, I was alone every time I heard it.
The first time I was sat at the back of the hanger building, painting. My boss had gone outside to talk to two women. He was standing near the front of the building and would have been able to see both doors so when I heard the front door slam and some footsteps run upstairs and continue walking along the top; I thought nothing of it at all. They sounded like they belonged to a young person and my boss had mentioned about some girls who liked to visit sometimes. Ten minutes later, when my boss came back in, I mentioned I had not heard the person come back down and did he want me to check on them. He had no idea who I was talking about and went upstairs (via the front door staircase) to see. Returning back down the metal staircase into the hanger section he said no-one was there. He frowned but we thought nothing more about it.
A few weeks later, I had let myself in one morning and was using the loo under the wooden stairs. Hearing the front door slam and feet run up the stairs I thought 'it's the same person; I'll catch them this time'. Needless to say, when I went upstairs and back into the hanger below; there was no-one. Even then I wasn't spooked. I simply did not believe in ghosts.
The next time we had both been working in the front workshop. I went to make us a cup of tea and heard the door go and footsteps up the stairs. It was my boss, of course and I was not surprised when he was not in the front workshop when I returned. However, when he walked in through the front door, I was. He had gone to take a call outside on his mobile. I checked upstairs - no-one.
I could go on, but it is the same story. I tried to find rational explanations for the noises; strange acoustics from next door; it turned out they had no stair against the wall and it was an old lady living there; or it was ducting in the roof with crows or pigeons. No, the ducting had been removed a few years back.
In the end I had to admit what I was hearing was exact each time; sometimes with the footsteps upstairs missing. I told several people about it and no-one else had heard of similar happenings. Apparently, the wooden stairs were quite new; but I know what I heard and it is entirely possible there would have been stairs there before.
I had to admit what I was hearing was a ghost, for want of a better word; and I have never seen or heard one since.
