One of the nicer things about winter is the lack of crowds. Another is the bay on cold, still mornings where it seems to be in hibernation, breathing lightly. This morning the faintest of pulse-like wavelets, arriving on an island of sand at low tide, and wrapping their energy gently around them.
I stood there for a while, filming it, and taking it in.
There’s been a resurgence of old skills in this time of quarantine and isolation.
For some it’s clearly bread-making or cooking. You still can’t find yeast in shops here. Or knitting. Jigsaw puzzles seem ubiquitous, if that can be called a skill.
For other, including myself, it’s some of the old habits of trying to get into nature that are sustaining and even more necessary than usual.
Not necessarily wild nature either; the sandy path along the edge of Port Phillip Bay near my house has enough variety and interest to make it fulfilling and refreshing every time. It needn’t be birds of creatures you see. Often, for me, it’s the shape of the sea: its crinkled or fretted surfaces, the wind swirling across it in dark knots. Sometimes its the clouds and the light behind them. And often is just the light and what it does to transform and sustain.
So, it was nice to find a new podcast from English nature writer Melissa Harrison, aptly called The Stubborn Light of Things which is an attempt to chronicle some of her walks in the nature around her English cottage. As she says, ‘I am lucky enough to be able to walk out of my cottage straight into Suffolk’s beautiful open countryside. As spring breaks over the British Isles, and summer settles in, I’ll be taking a recorder out with me on my daily walks to document the wonder and richness of the natural world and bring it into as many homes as I can.’
I’ve listened to one episode, and it made me think about getting better at documenting the changes in my local landscape through the seasonal changes. She actually had me at her referencing of Gilbert White and the seminal Natural History of Selborne, (1789) a long time favourite of mine, so much so that a visit to the village and White’s house but her guest on the first episode made a point about noticing that I took to heart. When did the summer finally shift away? When do the tomatoes no longer ripen? What is the light doing. I’m going to try to take even more notice.
Top: the light of things through the grapevine in Autumn. Bottom: Gilbert White’s house in Selbourne Photos: Warrick
Long ago, when the present and the living appealed to me more, I endeavored to compile “best of” reading lists at the close of each year. Even then, those were inherently incomplete and subjective reflections of one person’s particular tastes, but at least my scope of contemporary reading was wide enough to narrow down such a selection.
In recent years, these subjective tastes have taken me further and further into the past, deeper and deeper into the common record of wisdom recorded decades, centuries, millennia ago, drawn from the most timeless recesses of the human heart and mind. Outside the year’s loveliest children’s books — a stratum of literature with which I still actively and ardently engage — I now nurse no illusion of having an even remotely adequate sieve for the “best” of what is published each passing year, given that I read so very little of it (and given, too, that this particular year I birthed the first book of my own — itself the product of a long immersion in the past). But of the books I did read in 2019, these are the ones that will stay with me for life.
Wise words. There’s a case against too much of this and I don’t pretend to speak with authority. Simply put, my book of the year was Overstory by Richard Powers, a story for our times. You can read others I liked, and lists from previous years here at my poetry pages here.
I’ve been looking recently at new possibilities for a web site and/or blog space. I like WordPress, but the ads not so much, and I can’t get it to look as I’d like sometimes. My latest foray is moving my poetry page to Weebly. I looked at whether that was possible and it’s not, so in the meantime they’ll stay here. But you can take a look at the new site here: https://warrickwynne.weebly.com
A friend of mine bought a drone and too me out flying it, setting up dual controls. He flew, and I took some photos. I was interested in the change of perspective, of seeing this familiar coastal strip from a different angle. Here’s footage, flying towards Bird Rock, where I’ve spent many summer afternoons. It was a clear winter day and the water was so clear.