Drawn

On waking this morning, I already knew upon opening my eyes, without a shadow of a doubt, it was going to be a high pain level kind of day. Everything hurt. Just getting myself through the night I had taken my maximum amount of pain relief, so now, with one shocking med hangover, I was going to have to negotiate the whole rest of that day. First, a climb into the bath. (I glared at the offending articles, as if it was more like climbing Everest.) Okay, it was, in fact, actually more like a scramble over the side, which turned into an unladylike fall in. This didn’t help matters, but, hey… I was at least in! It was then, of course, only once I was there, the realisation hit me: (slaps head ouchhhhh!) I hadn’t put on the boiler for hot water an hour before. (😳) And there was no way I was scrambling back out of that blooming tub without at least having a perfunctory scrub down. I was determined, my mind, such as it was, made up.

I filled two large buckets with water, albeit extremely cold, went on to pouring half a bottle of fruit scented shower gel into each, doing the best to convince one’s self more gel would mean I would be clean faster right? (😁) Well, in theory it sounds okay. In practice the icy water was indeed still, well, icy! But I poured it over my already cold self. What made matters seem worse was I was now smothered in soap lather and had to use more of the beautifully over-night chilled water to this rinse off. (I need protection from myself at times, I swear.) (😁) But if there was a plus side to this whole debacle, I now smelt deliciously like the fruits of the forest jam my mother made.

After defrosting myself (At least on the inside anyhow) with the aid of a large, most welcomed mug of hot coffee, I set about hanging out my laundry. It was, after all, turning into a glorious morning.  If anything, it was somewhat mild for February, even taking into account the slight breeze… perfect drying weather though. Then for some reason I felt the sudden urge to sketch. (I have not done this for at least 18 months now.) I chose something uncomplicated and of interest for my first attempt:  a large autumnal tree. An easy subject. To the point. Uninspiring for some, I suppose, but then I’ve always loved trees. Without much ado I set to work.

It’s odd how quickly the time speeds by when one’s mind is really fully submerged. I had needed to get something on the blank sheet of paper quickly before I felt intimidated by the large expanse I was about to cover. Once the skeleton of the tree appeared I began with its long twisted limbs, using the slight tremor in my hands to its full advantage. I wanted it gnarly, branches stretching fully like grasping hands. Sitting in silence, it became almost hypnotic, mesmerising. I felt a sense of peace and calm.

Within an hour I had not only the one main tree, but others soon grew up out of the page, appearing pale almost ghostly in the background. It’s in these times, moments, I feel close to my father, instantly drawn back in time to far-off Saturdays of yesteryear. Swirls of blue cigarette smoke filling the living room, the smell of linseed, turps, oil paint, dad standing at his easel, me, of course, wanting to imitate, stood in front of a large water colour art pad propped haphazardly against the back of a kitchen chair. I had a small saucer for a pallet, dabs of each colour in a circle. My father was, of course, too wise to let me loose with oils; one, because of the mess, then, of course, there was the added cost to factor. We always had music on as my mother had gone out, the room filling with Nancy Sinatra, Bill Hayley, Glen Miller, James last and we sang raucously as we worked at our projects.

I found though I couldn’t sit for long, pain making me restless and uneasy. Reluctantly I put away my pencils and sketch pad, suddenly feeling the need to escape the confines of my flat. I put on my shoes and jacket and walked out into the mild afternoon air. My gait was somewhat slower and I leant more heavily on my walking stick than I would have liked, but my eyes were soon captivated by early blooming Hawthorns, their small creamy white flowers even now filling the air with perfume,  it’s green budding branches filled with tiny birds, twittering as they flit from branch to branch; Chaffinches, robins, blue tits, house sparrows darting about excitedly.

The farther on I ventured I was delighted even more by sprigs of random growing pale white and lime green snowdrops, their bell-shaped heads nodding in the breeze. Delicate purple violets nestled amongst the grass, palest blue star-shaped climbing periwinkle flowers and the glorious showy bright yellow winter jasmine looking like starbursts among olive green tiny leaves. My eyes darted everywhere spotting hidden treasures beneath hedgerows, signs of spring already making her presence felt though it still be winter. The deep steel-grey sky above me was providing plenty evidence of that. I took photos where I could with the intentions of drawing later. Although I wanted to capture everything in sight, at the same time not wanting to miss a single thing. I did, however, take a moment to get a few pictures of an old broken farm gate, propped against an elder. It was quickly being taken over by a splendid waxy-leaved ivy, its vines putting the structure that had been long since abandoned to good use. It was, however, all too soon time to return home, my legs protesting greatly at the added exercise. Walking slow so as to take in anything I had missed, I found an interesting section of a branch laying upon the grass, dried out over time. It’s creamy ochre colours and twisted shape caught my eye. I did no more than pick it up to bring home. It sits upon the table now, a solitary reminder of nature and the outdoors where I love being… a souvenir of the day. Until next time, take care of yourself. 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛