January 28th – In Telford, beside the Hortonwood cycle track, a fine crop of toadstools is growing. I’m n to sure what these beige, delicate little caps are, but they don’t seem bothered by the rain and frost. I assume that they are, like many things, caught out of season and shouldn’t really be growing in January.
They don’t seem troubled by the frost, though… a little bit of perfection on the way to work.
December 17th – At Telford after a flying visit, overlooking the station towards the town centre, a remarkable sunset to close the bracket of the wonderful dawn.
It had been a long day. Inbetween the two, I’d spent a morning in Darlaston.
Every Christmas I swear I’ll take it easy in the run-up. Every year I fail to do so and end up in a mad rush. Will I ever learn?
Mind you, I’d have missed this wonderful sight…
December 16th – Shhh! Whisper, you’ll scare it away. It’s shy, timid and rarely seen around here these days.
That’s a very rare blue sky, and I’m shocked and surprised to see such a lovely example today.
It’s been so long since I saw one, I had to check a reference guide to find out what it was…
December 11th – Also at Telford, by the M54 just n the embankment by the cycleway, a fine crop of crabapples even the birds are not bothering with.
Perhaps they’re too bitter, or hard, but there’s something a bit sad and dramatic about a tree with no leaves, and an unfallen, unwanted crop of fruit.
December 11th – As the grey, damp days and dark nights wind on, it’s hard finding colour in the world, and it can be hard to keep this thing positive – but it’s not hard at all when you spot things as lovely as these polyanthus, recently planted at Telford station, which seem to be blooming just in time for Christmas.
I was making a flying visit at lunchtime, and the journey was long and fraught – but these cheered me on no end.
November 30th – Telford, early in the rain. Not quite fully light. The skeletal, brutalist 80s footbridge and covered walkway at the station is like some strange portal. Ghosts of people, further away than you think; exaggerated perspective and peculiarly yellow lighting.
An otherworldly, slightly unsettling place.
November 27th – In Telford, the skies westwards were foreboding, and eastwards more optimistic, but it was to be a terrible afternoon both in terms of work and the weather. The stark beauty of low sun and early winter cycleways was gorgeous, but the western sky wasn’t making idle threats and I would return home in a rainstorm, battling bad connections having had a terrible day.
Sometimes, the omens are not good from the start.
November 5th – At Telford, two mysteries, one easily solved. On my journey I often pass a budget hotel, the rear of which is visible from the cycleway. On top of a cage surrounding what looks like air conditioning and refrigeration plant, a bicycle. It hasn’t moved for a year or more, or at least, it’s been there every day I’ve passed by. I’m wondering if anybody has actually noticed it from the hotel, or if it’s just a really secure locking space?
And then, the bike shed at the place I was visiting. Normally I have a job finding a space on sunny days. Today, only the hardcore mountain biker guy has rode in. And it looks like he got a wet arse doing so.
No mystery about fair-weather cyclists…
October 28th – One thing that does fascinate me on the cycle path in Telford is the way the trees and scrub have grown awkwardly through the fences. There are lots of instances like this – where the sapling crossed through the mesh, and the tree is so large now it’s consuming the fece by growing around and through it.
I’d have thought the constriction would have killed the tree, but it seem,s to have done OK considering, proving just how adaptable nature really is.
October 27th – I had to nip to Priorslee to pick something up. The trail crosses the M54 via a pedestrian/cycle bridge that twangs gently when you cross it, and resonates with every large lorry that passes underneath.
From the bridge, the embankments of the motorway were displaying wonderful colour even on this dull day, and the view to my destination looked almost bucolic and mysterious.
Autumn has it’s moments.
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