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January
The River Parrett bursts its banks. Michael and Utte’s house floods. For the first time in ever. We see it in the paper. A picture of the most cheerful man we know. His face a shattered shell. He stands in hip-waders in the kitchen. At he high-water mark on the wall behind him he will not look.
February
It’s still raining. It has always rained. We are silt dwellers, tide chasers, puddles, floods, mud. The river runs brown topsoil down and out to sea. From a fir erupts a murmur of starlings. By fir I also mean fur. A pelt of needles, hackles raised. Gale force ten at the river mouth. The scale goes up to twelve. After that the sky breaks. The fir comes down and takes two eucalyptus with it.
March
This morning. A forester shimmies up the copper beach. All day a chainsaw. Trimming
branches weather weakened. Opening huge holes in the blue.
This is a picture of wind.
April
A walk through the wood. A carpet of bluebells unfolds. Memories of ferns unfurl. A feast of wild garlic keeps pace along the path, and by the south quay, sea beet a plenty. Green shoots through the vineyard, pale before the blaze beyond. The brilliant copper beech. Leaves fresh. Red sequins. Dance in sprite sun.
May
The weather is green. The river is green. A greener green I’ve never seen. The trees an explosion. We slip in mid-stream. Ride the falling tide. Row until we see green ocean. Wind stiff on the way back. Oar-shaped muscles sprout where wings should be. In the morning, our arms are sore as if we had been trying to fly.
June
Six swans slide past the south quay fast. Single file silent. White in late sunlight. For weeks now, it has been raining. A wee lurcher looks on longingly. At the low-tide. At the mud flats. Brackish water laps. Green not-land, this salt-grass. A field day, with ducks in. Ears back, she leans against the lead.
July
Bright chop at Blackness. A splash of sudden sun. A season we've almost forgotten the name for. Voices clatter across the water. Clouds clutter the far corners. Buzzards circle. And sometimes an osprey. The tide turns. The wind against us. Night rows toward shifting shadows. Blister on oar hand. Surrender feels right.
August
Jacket on sun. Jacket off wind. Jacket on sweat. Jacket off rain. Jacket on stops. And so begins the rumour. A new sound in the leaves. A new surface on the water. And so begin the hydrangeas. Bigger than hearts, smaller than heads. And also the swallows. The sheer volume of them. A tangle of feeding. An acre of air.
September
Late summer thunder. Heat rising out of nowhere. Elegiac, but we’ll take it. On a long walk. Blackberries in dense bramble. Blackthorn ripening sloe. Black blankets of rooks airing out over the wood. The sun sets as if it means it. A sudden squall-for-all. Puts the wind in window. The shivering way we brace and say autumnal.
October
A gruesome night. Comes bucketing down. A extra anchor down, lest the bed slip its moorings. In the morning, the noise ends. A dense mist hugs the river bends. Two crews of eight scull past, score the dark water. Through wet light. Bird sound before sight. An arrow of geese rises. A greater-than sign in the sky.
November
The sound of light rockets through night. Fire works its way down the bank. Red and orange leaves by way of water. Gold teeth glint in the wood, till the wind smashes them. The high wind, the round hills will always make room for. Frost in the long shade. Soft absences. Where in the night, large beasts were sleeping.
December
A drive through Somerset. Swans dog-ear far corners of rain-drenched fields. We call on Michael and Utte. They give us a bag of English walnuts. Just that. A brown paper bag full of fresh windfall. They’d collected all autumn. Outside, bits of dried grass and soil clinging black. Inside, the whiteness of the wet nut startling.
January
alone again. breathless. silence broken. wind constant. waves roar to the front door. cut deep coves in the shingle. the first periwinkle. blue borage. self-seeded. elder burnt. by salt spray. grey. pinched day. soaking rain. bringing down the dark. violent storm. the house trembles. the dawn magnificent. in bands of violet. through windows thick with salt.
February
gorse forced. into an agony of weird shapes. twisted branches. a bank of cloud advances. purple shadows. a pale blue mist. a yellow half moon. the winter we nearly forgot. whistling. singing now. a deep and continuous roar. a banshee. living on borrowed time. a hair’s breath from disaster. my heart grows not dark. rather fragile. a deep breath. joyful.
March
rain-streaked windows throw the landscape out of focus. a pure white sun in a chalk white sky. mauve clouds. mist milky. silent. slightly hazy. a carpet of violets under the ashes. glimmering in the dusk. sea mist luminous. I long for shimmering emeralds. sap. and verdigris green. a hint of lime. newly burst leaves. the blue of the sky. warmth on the back of my neck.
April
a bitter easterly batters fearfully. a slate sky over a boiling sea. rain weeping. always becoming. never arriving. nettles invading. doors opening and slamming. in the exhausted dawn. the silence truly golden. sloe bushes covered in blossom. a large bee humming from flower to flower. a sand lizard dives into the lavender. swallows swoop low over the roof.
May
weeks. of cloudless days. scalding sun. burning bright. tinder-dry. it rained in the night. a drama. a cool breeze. blows a moth past. a froth of white flowers. a drift of sea campion. the sorrel turns a misty red. the sea turns a jade green. the shore guards its secrets. sultry. wind unsettles me. I sit. well sheltered. strangely lethargic. chained to this landscape.
June
heat shimmers through foxglove spires. the hills violet. awesome and frightening. the days blur. so bad. I ache. a hermit with finches. wind. and within minutes. dark. purple. clouds mask the sun. sea mist hugs the house close. cooler. drops of water gather on my eyebrows. blind me. moss damp. the silence a blessing. breathless. the grasses sigh with relief.
July
a dry wind blows the downy seeds of the willow herb across the parched landscape. poppies bloom and scatter. dragonflies hover. drowsy bees clamber. teasel in flower. bunches of dried lavender. lazy. high summer. silence. words slide off pages. long hours. out of focus. sun relentless. in bare sky. everything. waiting for rain.
August
a blood-red blaze through the ozone haze. the tide far out. the horizon closed in. even the willows rattle with drought. feelings of frustration. dissatisfaction. what am I doing? dreaming all morning of escape. to where? Venus. diamond bright. looms above a jade sea. summer’s back broken. a red admiral lands on my overalls. and shuts its wings.
September
mist shimmers. dew sparkles. the sea a strip of silver. the sun comes. with a halo. drizzle sets in. an olive-grey. vanishing in an opal haze. the fog horn sounds. but nothing is harmed at all. through the hurricane of my dreams I measure my garden. one foot in front of the other. as intuitive as writing. my appetite lost for recording. today I will do nothing.
October
restless nights. flashing lights. torrents of conversation. strong gusts. the gale continues. a parallel world. as the light fades. the pinks turn magenta. a crescent moon. a swarm of stars. always thankful for the dawn. a flock of greenfinches. twists and turns. now and then. the garden casts mysterious shadows. warm weather. waiting for change.
November
up with the dawn. cold with the frost. bright. on glittering shingle. sheet lightening. the roof rattling. showers scudding. at a trowel’s depth. the ground bone dry. the quiet overwhelming. aches and pains. under these awesome skies. as the shadows gather. a hard frost in the weak light. of the first days. of winter.
December
damp crawls across morning. a state of exhaustion. strange. vivid dreams. persistent easterlies leave a strand of plastic detritus on the sand flats. the hedgerows scarlet with haws. bright yellow willows. short sunless days. a pinched frowning sky. looking out the window. my ghostly eye wanders aimlessly. virus has displaced me.
January
Mists make dangerous travel. The air loaded with freezing particles. Attached to fixed objects. A blade of grass. Some garden shrubs. Spreading tufts of crystals. Gigantic specimens of snow-white coral. An elegant fringe. The rime falls. Transparent. In heaps beneath the trees.
February
Frost. Followed by clear sky. East wind. Early evening. On placing a wet finger on an iron railing. It adhered strongly. The handling of a shovel might have endangered the skin. Morning. Thermometers found rising. Dryness and stillness lessen the impression. Of cold. Brilliant sun.
March
Impediments presented to navigation. A succession of heavy gales. Forty sail of vessels lying in wait. For fair wind. A gentle breeze. Spring weather commences. The sun assumes a splendour to which the eye has long been unaccustomed. This change. From the beginning. Obvious to sense.
April
Wind from the east. Veered westward. Blowing a hard gale. On the south coast. Considerable rain meeting a spring tide occasioned an inundation. Vegetation made little progress. The swallows appeared. A few swallows. Swallows amid squalls. Of wind.
May
Dry here. Thunder about. Distant thunder. A splendid meteor. A large body of blue flame followed by a long train of sparks. At considerable altitude. Travelling with velocity. Indicating the quarter from which the wind approaches. By cold winds. The leafing of trees retarded.
June
The character of this period. On the whole. Ungenial. Cattle in a declining state. Blighting winds predominate. Corn suffering from want of rain. A shower of an hour’s continuance. In consequence. Vegetation passes. From starved and backward. Toward considerable luxuriance.
July
Mist resting on the cliffs and on the high land. Toward evening subsides. Appears on the sea below. A body showing close to the horizon. On the high land. Above mentioned. Walking. Mist on the sea advancing. Spreading westward. Comes at length. Close under sandy cliff.
August
Emphatically wet. Excessive rains. The whole season a series of storms and inundations. Not meadows and villages alone. Portions of cities and large towns also lay long under water. Crops carried off by torrents. The vintage ruined by want of sun to ripen the fruit.
September
Depression. Distinguished by a splendid display. Northern lights. Appeared most remarkable. Waves of snow-white light. Rolling from thin cloud. Condensed mist. Matter invested with a luminous quality. Released from magnetism. The breath became visible.
October
Sea air. As such. Is not necessarily moister. In the middle of the day. Air blowing directly. Carrying an abundance of spray. A fine mist from the surf. Out of the mist evaporation proceeded rapidly. At other times a southerly wind. Coming along shore. Was yet so dry.
November
Gales from westward. Gales prevailed. Gales of wind from the coast. The whole west coast. After which. The wind changing northerly. The night boisterous. A fluctuating depression of eight days. It rained slates and tiles in the town and there was no standing on the beach.
December
Sharp depressions. Not marked by gales of violence. Only one noted. Stormy from the westward. A strong wind. A large amount of rain. Fifty hours without intermission. Spring tides high. Along the south coast. Subsequent rapid elevation attending the change.
January
Precious flowers of mid-winter. Chinese jasmine. Demands shelter. From frost. Twisted ribbons of Wych-hazel. Crinkle gold through the rime. Tassels of green-grey catkins. Thrive against a north wall. Against a high yew hedge. A pale garden. I am now planning. Under the first flakes of snow.
February
Snowflakes. Of drooping habit. Snowdrops. Divide immediately. After flowering. Winter-sweet. In older gardens. Long sprigs. Loaded with strange flowers. Scent cold open air. Wind-swept. Soil stiff. Sky blue. Deep yellow. Crocuses. In quick succession. A suitable interlude. For last-hour planting.
March
Bulbs from bowls. Gladioli. At intervals. At a time. When flowers are scarce. Lenten roses will fill an odd corner. A cool place. A west aspect. A niche shaded by shrubs. Dog’s-tooth violets. Beneath flowering almonds. In woodlands. Trilliums. In glass houses. Seed boxes. Sprouting. Green as a lawn.
April
Plants apparently killed. By frosts. Freezing-rain. And other afflictions. May look dead now. But powers of revival are astonishing. And how subtle. Warm morning. Sun a shock. After cool nights. Early flowering. Shrubs. Currents. A whiff of scent. Of evergreen. The Balsam poplar. Unfolds its sticky leaf.
May
Lilac is easy. Or Mock Orange. Too often forgotten. Modest irises. Unperceived. Amongst grass-like leaves. Apple blossoms. At a fugitive stage. A roseate haze. Trees grey with age. A pewter sky. Gleams light around the edges. Anticipating summer. The cherry. At its most magnificent.
June
Windswept beds. A mad venture. A thyme lawn. Densely flowering. Purple and red. And lilac allium. Extremely handsome. Honeysuckle without scent. Scrambling over a fence. Lax bushes. Of old roses. Flourishing in broken light. Peonies will probably out-live. The person who planted them.
July
Heavy. Lumps of colour. Clump in the distance. Sun-lovers. Flop. Flat. After a storm of rain. Fox-tail lilies. Pale torches. Ghostly. In summer moonlight. Cuttings can be taken. Of flowering shrubs. Bushes hung with fruit. Pecked by birds. A sheltered corner. Of the mallow family. Busy with bees.
August
Berries succeed the flower. Turquoise-blue and scarlet. Brilliant. As though varnished. Herbs. Being great spreaders. Must be kept in check. Japanese anemones manage. In late summer. To suggest. Lightness. Breathless. I try. I fail. I despair. To plant Madonna lilies. Most dislike the movement of air.
September
Clematis. Over a rough shed. The picture of contentment. Corsican rosemary. Hates cold winds. The planting months are upon us. Concentrate on shrubs and trees. How many. Will lend themselves. To layering. This would be the time. To dig. And divide bulbs. The flower already conceived inside them.
October
Spiders’ webs. Loop from hedges. A bonfire of colour. At some moment. Will catch sunlight. Bronze and blue. The turning woods. The hazy distance. The peonies’ leaves. Rioting pink. The common quince ripens. The ornamental should not be forgotten. Long dark evenings. Fat golden fruit.
November
The rugosa rose. A blaze of gold. The mahogany bark. Of the paper maple. Replaced by brighter orange. Greengages ordered. Extra roses planted. Dahlia tubers lifted. The first frost. The worst months. Fall back. On the berried plants. Dark. Leathery leaves. The sanguine colours of autumn.
December
A blank time. Brown blankets of earth. Cover secret roots. A heavy mulch. Of fallen leaves. Over beds and borders. Christmas roses. Greenish white. With golden centres. Resent disturbance. Wych-hazel. Flowers on bare branches. Catalogues on the table. This planting season. Consider. The vast tribe of pinks.