notebook jottings

july 21st

following the water

searching for source

Foul Mile start

searching for seeing, searching for eyes,wandering curiousity

wildflowers Amphibious Bistort, Deadly Nightshade

wildflowers to be pressed in old book Nature’s Nursery
August 6 Merrie Harriers Cowbeech

met late,drove to further pasture after Foul Mile sign started on footpath down -past pond to first stream-started long walk upstream-cows, a horse and foal,wildflowers,pylon,dropped glasses,a tiny stream, a lovely tree,it continues up and off towards a farm house-walked back, a sheep’s skull, a strange sheep’s wool covered offering -then up to another field to find a pond behind a reclaim place – went in and the owner told us it was clay so unlikely source for a source so its somewhere else…lovely moments a start-

August 29 Blackhurst Ghill  at the source

oak,ash,field maple,blackthorn,bramble,hawthorn,wild rose,nettle,thistle,spearmint,sorrel,buttercup,willowherb,birch,hazel

Rain falls, I sit at source as Charlotte rolls string downstream. We found our first source, a shallow ditch of water type plants and a ridge above – its a thrill- I stay under a hazel- misty rain- dampening, the rages of its sound coat me,rain infiltrates all and falls in the book and words run. The¬† ash tree opposite is fanged,its roots like open lions mouths like the yoga pose with tongues out. I am in a wide basin hovering at the edge of a field 20foot or more across, the stream, tiny now cuts through the centre but it carries a wide berth between banks of casual trees. Rain, paper starts to dissolve, a bleached bug crawls up my coat,rain increases the sound monumental. This string has no idea of boundary its just being lead by the stream. Would like to return in winter. It is rare to sit for so long on the grass in the rain, I am glistening with rain. Is the stream oozing more, how long before a fall f rain begins to move the mud and a flow begins, it is a mud ridge just below my feet, a gap, a greened crack in the earth indented with mud. My lion’s mouth’s are wet like saliva a farm vehicle is close I wonder if the farmer will look at the person sitting in the rain on the banks of a river source as if waiting for the flow as long as the rain takes to empty the sky to fill the stream…

To sit in ordinary English countryside in pouring rain at the source of a stream and wonder, wonder why, wonder at the patience of the earth. To travel back to nothings,inklings, jottings. The tiny imperceptable, unknowable,invisible beginnings. Staying alive to the moveable beginning so casually appearing – a change in the mud, a water flower,a good map able to tell what we are not practiced enough to find. It is an unquesting quest, a humble start, a start of a line of thought – that as water wastes around the world as that which is as necessary as breath is threatened so it is to treasure it more. This duet of sourcing a giving back to ourselves what always was an ability to live with the stream- the mud dips are filling it is reforming under my eyes, a mixture of falling in and rising up and a way being made