September 29th – A long morning involving a trip to Telford with a stop off at Tipton on the way. I set out in a damp, windy landscape, but there was clearly a better day on the way and the clearing weather lifted my grim mood.
Passing Grove Hill on the Chester Road at Stonnall, the sky was neatly divided between day and night, clear and cloud, bad weather and good.
And the light, clear, fine day was winning.
May 3rd – An old cycling friend of mine whom I used to meet occasionally in the lanes of Staffordshire – the late, lamented Maurice Purser, who passed away in 2010 at the age of 93 and still rode when he was 90 – would have referred to today as a ‘wolf of a day’, in that it looked nice and friendly, but was vicious with teeth and claws. The sun was out, it was clear as a bell. It was even a tad warmer – but there was the kind of punishing, relentless wind you get in May that makes cycling in the wrong direction a joyless, unpleasant chore.
I kept close to home, and visited some places I knew would benefit from clear air and sunlight; Lazy Hill, Thornes Hill and the the church at Stonnall, and Grove Hill. I drank in the views, enjoyed the oilseed rape and noted that from Lazy Hill the wind turbine near Whittington was clearly visible. The aspect from the rear of the churchyard – just beyond the fence – was as wonderful as ever, a veritable walk across Stonnall’s rooftops. Up on Grove Hill I was buffeted by the wind and took several attempts at the panorama.
This is our area at it’s best, and worst: a grand day that presented the scenery beautifully, but was just too hostile to cycle out to see it.
August 5th – Grove Hill, Stonnall, on the way to work, just past dawn. Granddad used to say ‘Mackerel sky, 24 hours dry.’ On this, his rule of thumb is generally right.
This pagan place was beautiful, and despite running close to time (as ever), I stopped to capture it.
A morning like this sets you up for the day.
April 3rd – A great sunrise today, clear, and bright, but cold, with the kind of chill that hurts your forehead – but still the sharp, evil, lazy easterly. The snow is gradually fading away, and by my return this evening, it had mostly gone.
My muse this morning – Grove Hill, near Stonnall – looked beautiful. Some say it’s a mythic, pagan place, and it’s certainly beautiful, and a known landmark for miles. To sit under that lone tree on a summer evening is a joy to the heart. I adore this place.
April 13th – By heck, it was nippy this morning. Not cold by winter standards, of course, but cold by spring ones. There was quite a heavy frost last night, and it made for an interesting mist. The sunrise wasn’t vivid like earlier in the week, but pastel-hued and ever changing. At Stonnall, my muse, Grove Hill, was stunning, as were the pylons and woods at Mill Green. An hour and a half later, on the Arrow Valley cycle route in Redditch, the lake was also captivating, it’s fringes holding a light mist, softening the light that made even the Canada Geese precious.
September 1st – Autumn continued to tap me on the shoulder as I left at sunrise for work. The cold night air had caused the finest, lowest of mists that hung in hollows, against hedges and huddled round houses. This was truly magical, and I seemed to enjoy it almost alone. I saw few others – if only the people of England could see it. I was very nearly late for my train as I spent too long taking pictures. By the time I reached Four Oaks, the mist had burnt off and this rare beauty passed unknown to the yawning commuters who joined my train, bleary and yawning.
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