April 20th – For an evening spin, it was pleasant enough; the wind was grim, but at least I’d fixed the problem with my gears. At Chasewater, the sunset was nice, but unremarkable, and I was surprised at how tiny the gull roos was. I could hear an owl calling near the dame, but I couldn’t see it. On the way back home, the sky darkened, and it looked very, very black over Bill’s mother’s.
Luckily, I just got home and got the bike in as the heavens opened… I do hope that nice spell wasn’t summer.
October 31st – I cycled to Darlaston in soft, warm drizzle. The rain couldn’t make up its mind to stay or go, and just hovered in an indecisive, grey mizzle that painted most things I saw shades of murky grey. However, it’s time to point out that despite the grey, your local parks right now are marvellous. Whether it’s Walsall Arboretum, Holland Park in Brownhills or as shown here, Victoria Park in Darlaston, the trees are really showing great colours right now that can brighten the most dull days.
My has is tipped to those who work so hard to maintain them. Thanks, folks.
August 17th – A spin through a damp Brownhills wasn’t feeling terribly picturesque, but as I sped down the cycle route that follows the old railway line from the canal to Engine Lane, I noticed how green and lush the vegetation was, how perfect the track, the light.
Even dull days can be beautiful in their own way.
May 8th – Sweet rain.
As someone who spends an inordinate amount of time outdoors, I’m fairly honed to the seasons and their timetable. That was, until this year. Spring is so late, it feels like a chunk of the year has just gone missing, lost, been edited from the tape.
The natural order being disturbed, I’ve missed little things without realising them. One being the smell of the countryside in spring after rain. When I travelled to work, the drizzle was very, very fine and almost not there at all, but heavier on my return. At Shenstone, the air was damp, musty and smelled beautifully of pollen, oilseed rape, moist earth and growth.
I didn’t know how much I’d missed that smell until today. I got off my bike, and stood there, just opening my senses to it. Not just the scent, but the colour, the light, the birdsong.
It was glorious. Even dull days can be a joy.
February 26th – I was thankful for the favourable wind on the way home, but the grey, half-mist half-drizzle was miserable. I normally love this journey, but today, it was dismal. It did, however, have some bright moments; the buzzard spied over the field near Muckley Corner was a long, lucky shot in very poor light, and the snowdrops on the verge at Sandhills are numerous and cheering.
Mostly, though, the A461 just ground on into the grey afternoon. Come on sunshine, where are you?
February 25th – A dull, grey, chilly day. Again, I came back via Shenstone to avoid a punishing northeasterly wind, but also hoping to find some inspiration in the nascent spring. Sadly, there was none in the dull, grey, darkening lanes, but the spirit of the Footherley Brook remains.
April, come she will, but she’s a long time arriving.
October 24th – The drizzle continued. If we actually had some decent light, Footherley and Shenstone would be really magical: the trees are wonderful colours right now, but it’s all masked by the murk and drizzle. Please, can whoever is doing the rain dance, please stop. It’s not big, not clever and I’m developing trench-foot and webbed feet. Thanks.
January 29th – I went to bed last night wholly expecting to wake up to a frosty, crisp, bright day. I was to head to Cannock Chase, maybe over Shugborough. Sadly, I hadn’t bothered to check the weather. What I woke up to was a miserable, dank, dark and dismal day. I busied myself with other things and headed out for a spin late afternoon, just before the light began to die. I went up around the new pond at Clayhanger, then back into Brownhills and up the old Railway Line to Ryders Mere. Not a soul about, only the old fox I normally see here at sundown, looking bedraggled and fed up. We both stood stock still for a few seconds, and then he turned tail and trotted off. That fox always fascinates me – I think that to him, humans are just unpredictable, odd looking foxes, tolerable company if we keep still and mind our own business.
He looked grey today. The landscape was grey. Everything looked the same. I hate days like this.
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