Nature takes its course

I am at that precarious point in my grief, where everything that triggers a memory of my father causes a stark reaction: tears, choking up, or a deep feeling of longing and loneliness, 

I have steered clear of movies and books about families or with any topic about death (except for CSI or Murder She Wrote, for instance--oddly they seem okay).

Music is a problematic trigger, except for classical music, as my father and I never tried to sing along to Bach or Mozart--for which the world and our neighbors are grateful.

  

So I find that exploring this place that my father and I never visited together and had very little chance to talk about can provide me with hours of without pain.  I still wish I could share any number of the experiences I am having with him...but that is normal for me as I travelled and Dad did not.  I would share with him upon my return, so in a way, I can trick myself into not thinking about him so intensely.   I also find that if I keep moving and collapse from exertion I can sometimes outrun the sadness.  So this weekend, I ran and experienced and reveled in the beauty of this complex world. 

Here are some lovely movements of my last two days spent in the Borders (the historically, hotly contested land between England and Scotland).  The days were fair, if cold, the landscape a beautiful panorama of stone walls and rolling hills, cultivated land and ancient buildings.  

This is my little study in nature.  

Check the reflection of this Great Herron

More Snowdrops, this time with a lovely stone wall in the background

When a tree falls in the woods, do the sheep hear it?

What about the Heiland coos, did they hear the fallen tree?

 

Sheep crossing--rush hour is very different where I was.

More Sheep crossing, another location.

Babies!  Lamby-kin-babies.  Can you believe they spray paint a number

on their sides.  Perhaps this is so you can count them when it is time for 

sleep.

The pheasants' conversation should go like this:

"Green feathers are better.  You cannot cross unless your feathers are green." 

"No, blue feathers are better.  Let me pass, you inferior green bird."

"Green. Green. Green!"
"No, Blue."

(Ignore the words at the beginning, I had yet to turn off the radio--they are NOT the pheasants speaking.)  Oh and the bird on the left has a lovely green ring on his neck.  The bird on the right has a blue, almost turquoise ring of feathers.  The color quality of the video is a bit off.  

This is a truly frightening warning.  What does one do when confronted
by dangerous peacocks and running children?