Snow and clear skies – how could we resist the draw of spending dawn with the Little Asby Hawthorn? We wrapped up warm, and started in darkness. Rob settled in with his camera and I wrote. Here are the images and the notes we made while we were there …

 

the moon is half, a glowing semi-circle / it has shed itself onto the land / all these rocks white-coated / Howgills smoothed to alabaster / grouse on the morning air / gold in the east

snow on tufted grass makes fat fingers of each slender stem / unmoving in the barely breath of wind / grouse calls rise like hollow pebbles

I had forgotten this dawn symphony / birdcalls thrown into the crisp air / light like a song / ice in my nostrils / the last of the planets hovering before the sun hides it for another day / my toes chilling in my boots

and this lone tree standing as if frozen mid-wind-blast / twisted branches flung northwards

after the gold there is a gentle white / a hint of pewter

before the sun shows itself / the stillness seems stiller / it is the space between breaths / the lost space between dreaming and waking / what felt so vibrant and real mists over / is hard to grasp

day takes over night / the grouse announce it

there are fresh fox prints in the snow / a quick step of pads tracing the limestone edge / my mind fills in the gaps / I have seen a vixen here before / emerging from the limestone grikes and flowing away / amber against sky / and now I imagine it / long and low / the white of its underside a reflection of snow / moonlight all around

// my fingers are losing sensation // the raw bite of freeze / not quite pain but very nearly – or the pain is overridden by my determination to write / because I know that if I do not do it now, well, I do not do it now / and there is only now / retrospect musings will be filtered and night’s darkness and the glow of early dawn will remain as images only / lacking the undertones and overtones of this place

Starlings! A sudden wave of scattered black! Hundreds of tiny birds / weightless moments / I hold my breath / the sky has turned to white and pink / dawn pushes the night into retreat

0822 and now the light is coming / the sky has become a dance / one twisted cloud suspended above a band of pink and gold / another cloud layered pink / and drifting

the sun has peaked over the horizon now / its glare is a pierce / a fire / a game changer / I know my hands can warm up now / and the white land reflects the glow

the morning has been one of crystals as well / in the limestone there are dips and hollows where water has turned to ice / ice ruffled by breeze and blackened / each boulder like a split geode

and weighted with hoar frost / grass turns to glass / sparkles

I was wrong about my fingers / still freezing / and painful / but the morning is here and the light is phenomenal / the land golded / it is almost unreal / we are both mesmerised / the limestone wall is burnished / the snow over grass a work of art / we are lifted by the play of light and shade

and the tree above it all / warming and defining itself / the grouse still groggling their watery call / and all else / silent

this is why it’s worth it
worth an early start / worth the cold
fingers / threshold
moments / pass quickly

hold
the magic

*

—

On this day last year, when we took down hundreds of leaves of dedication, the weather was wet and stormy – the blog about the installation is here: From the Heart.