Anyone reading my new-year's day post on my 'Wild Somerset Child' blog will have realised that 2011 was my annus horribilis, and it would seem from the comments already kindly posted by blog followers that it was likewise for others. I am not here re-visiting my feelings - or lack of them - on 1st January, other than to say that the winter picnic my dear husband made for me, his kindness in driving me out of myself, and my deliberate snatching of my Journal Spill notebook and camera, catapulted me into 2012. Description of the day, and photos, can be seen here: I mentioned that my journaling word-whisper would appear here in due course. Here it is, and I apologise that my blogs are all interlinked. That's the way I am.
So I sketched, and the word-whisper fell onto the page, not in its usual format - that will happen in my 'Quilt Journey Word-Whispers' (have I lost you? Sorry). I turned to the back of my fat notebook and spilled some more: a little more coherent, a finding of something that I was afraid had been lost, though maps are so often a trigger. My perceptive husband knows when work has overtaken me and I need to be 'taken out of myself'. And here is what I wrote at the back of my book, subsequent to my poor sketch-spill:
"Ilmington Hill: the names alone speak history. Compton Scorpion, Cathole, Foxcote, Woodmeadow, Lark Stoke, Goose Hill, Ebrington. Fields evocative of past lives, villages long gone; only the names and the marks on the landscape reminding me of what once was; hedge and ditch and furrow, barn and byre .... a sparrow-hawk alights on the roadside hedge, steel-blue back; pauses just a few seconds, then swoops low past our parked car, and is gone."
You can double-click the journal image to read the words I wrote 'on the page'. Thankyou for visiting.