My intention was only to walk to the hill top. Every time I have walked this week my intention has been only to walk to the hill top and then back. I have so much work to do. But then I thought about Adam's pot that had been on the hill top and decided to go and see what remained. The air was all summer silk and butterflies, light slightly muted by the thinnest veil of cloud.
Where the pot had been there was now only mud, a texture of sand, a pool and a trail of what had been clay flowing over rock and lichen. Here and there a shard still held the shape crafted by skilled hand. A broken dragon's egg. In my mind, the memory of the shape that had been there.
From the top of the hill I watched a young red fox glide swift through green bracken and take cover.
It didn't take long. I walked down, intending to head home but instead a path shoulder high with willow herb and the thought of seals led me in a different dirrection, down to the sea. Two seals floated idle, sleeping in the sea. They have begun to gather. Soon the beach will echo to their cries that haunt the mind. Soon there will be seal pups.
The scent of meadowsweet and heather, salt sea and bracken, the sound of the sea and grasshopper warblers, stonechat chipping and skylark all worked to seduce me further away from home.
And all the way I thought about time, and the brief life of the pot, and the stone walls made by hands that are now no more than dust, and the fact that I did have loads of work to do and that another deadline would whistle past my ears, and I had a proposal to write for a book and a contract to read and paintings to gather.
Back home I pushed it all aside, apart from the cover rough for Nursery Rhymes, and began a painting of a red fox. I will take it to Art in Action and gild it there, along with two barn owls.
Waiting for gold leaf background to go on. Red gold if I have enough.