A patch of earth

There’s a place I know that I walk amongst and through most mornings. To some it may seem like just another patch of ground left to grow a little wild and unkempt in between villages, but to me, it’s a place of magic. It probably takes around five minutes to walk from one side to the other – if you did that with your mind on other things, you would miss out on the wonder of this place and the haven it is for a range of plants and animals that rustle and whisper in this world of hawthorn, long grass, oak and willow.

Electricity pylons loom at either end, and the wires between them soar above the grass and bare earth path, tracing footsteps with their lines. 

I’ve known this land for almost ten years; winter, spring, summer and autumn, I’ve visited it in all weathers, and over that time it has slowly revealed its heartbeat.

The pylons are roost sites for jackdaws that call noisily from steel branches, particularly in the winter months when I arrive there in the slow grey light of dawn; they discuss loudly when to take off, shuffling and pushing against each other, rising air-bound from their perches then settling again, until they reach a consensus and begin to leave in small groups which steadily expand until the sky is peppered with feather and sharp beak.

If you are lucky, you may catch a glimpse of an elusive jay as it flies swiftly from one tree bough to another, corrugated outline and flashes of electric blue and buff-peach.

In summer, the grasses and bramble scrub grow tall and dense, shrinking my presence in the space during these months of bounty. This morning, as I entered from the dark woodland path that leads there, I startled a pair of blackbirds feasting on wild raspberries.

Autumn brings raging red sunrises to the land. Apocalyptic scenes as the grasses begin to die back, the red berries glow and the leaves turn to scarlet and russet.

In winter, the paths turn to sticky trails of clay-mud that make it difficult to keep feet attached to earth. The mass of hawthorns are covered in blue frost at first light and the sky looks huge.

I’ve seen graceful roe deer here at these times. Walking calmly through the grassland, before pausing sharply with head raised to listen when they sensed my footsteps, then stepping into a gentle trot to break away from the intrusion.

Hidden away behind the trees, is a river. Shallow in parts it darkens and deepens in winter when it is fed by water running off the surrounding fells. Dippers dip, and kingfishers streak along it from time to time; it is also a beloved place of relief on hot summer days for my four-pawed companion who loves to wallow in its soothing flow.

It is spring I love the most though in this place, with its surround-sound bird song and swathes of cuckoo flower, the hawthorns, however, are the jewel in the crown. They envelop the entire perimeter and are several trees deep; gnarled by weather and time, their dark forms appear quiet and brooding during the winter months, a foil for what is to come when spring arrives and leaves appear quietly on their branches. This steady greening leads to the growth of unobtrusive buds, that one day explode into an overwhelming display of white blossom and scent that is utterly enchanting, developing pink tips to petals as they begin to go over.

Where hawthorns gather

At first light
in May, each day
my feet travel
to seek white buds
that bunch
on slender branch
with thorn and lobed leaf,
for I know

a place where
hawthorns gather.

(Extract from the poem ‘Where hawthorns gather’ @Kate Priestman, 2022.)

In addition to being the muse for my writing, this area of land and its surroundings are the inspiration for my artwork too, including a piece I am working on at the time of writing, which features the hare – an animal I am particularly drawn to (a crude sketch of an initial idea is shown in the adjacent image).

This is a patch of earth that feeds the imagination and is a place that will always be special to me.

Thanks for reading this far. If you’d like to find out more about where I find my creative inspiration, check out “The importance of inspiration for an artist”.