The Lockdown Diary - a photo on Flickriver

The Lockdown Diary

            Yesterday afternoon at around 1:30pm a couple in their middle fifties were taking their daily exercise in the form of a leisurely stroll when they came upon a man of similar years standing in the middle of an enormous muddy puddle in his green welly boots.  He had a huge grin on his face, and what they didn't know was that it was the seventh such puddle he'd waded through in the last five minutes as he took his own lunchtime sabbatical.  The couple smiled nervously at the man, who still grinning stupidly explained that he was enjoying a bit of water therapy.  They nodded, agreed it seemed an opportunity too good to miss and carried on walking.  Even though they were both wearing wellies too, they didn't seem particularly inclined to join in the fun.

Well of course it was me standing in that big brown puddle, but you'd already worked that out hadn't you? Ali was walking ahead of me at a judicious distance and pretending not to know me on what has already become a well worn circuit along the Bissoe Trail and then through Unity Wood and Scorrier Wood. Apart from a very occasional visit to work it's the only place I've been to in the last three weeks.  The coast is only three miles away and in theory I could probably go there without sin, but as half of the rest of Cornwall make that choice each weekend because there's not much else to do, I prefer to stay here.

For now it's just the pair of us and Rosie, a grumpy jet black rescue cat who has been with us for more than two years and likes to make her presence known each morning for up to three hours before she calms down again and goes to sleep for the rest of the day.  Remember when your child had that case of the "terrible twos?"  Remember that sense of relief you felt when your bundle of joy finally nodded off and you knew a brief and elated silence would flood right through your exhausted soul as you wondered whether to sleep or iron the romper suits?  Yep, that's what living with Rosie is like.  She's treated like royalty and given all the love and care a sulky flatulent ageing moggy should be given, yet she regularly stares right through us as if we have no business being inside our own home.  Every evening, just as we settle down for dinner she stirs from her sleep and starts the evening cacophony.  If she's out she wants to be in and if she's in she wants to be out.  She wants to be fed but then she stares at her dish in disgust when you fill it with her favourite food.  She's a pain in the royal whatsit, but then again she's our pain in the royal whatsit.  My coffee intake has increased since we decided to share our home with her though.

Through the day I sit at the kitchen table working, occasionally having online meetings with my colleagues and frequently lamenting the absence of a second computer screen.  We're all used to double screens these days and going back to one seems far more difficult than it was in the days when it was the way of things.  Sometimes I have a bit of music on.  I was listening to Rory Gallagher the other day only for another artist further down the feed to catch my eye.  Now I can't stop listening to her.  Sona Jobarteh from the Gambia,  queen of the kora, a large stringed instrument I'd never heard of before.  Tall, elegant and with a mesmeric beauty, she is accompanied by a group of wonderful musicians.  The sound is utterly stunning to my ears.  It feels like a good time to make new discoveries.

On our lockdown walks I sometimes carry the camera with me.  No tripod, just the camera in the small bag across my shoulder as I look for compositions in the spaces around me.  On this weekend outing I thought I'd have another go at a handheld panoramic stitch in the mineshaft ridden Unity Wood.  This one is made up of half a dozen portrait shots stitched together.  I love the web of winding tracks ground deep into the landscape by the mountain bikers who race through this eerie space wearing bright colours that jar against the sombre winter palette.  I even cycle through here myself on occasion, albeit at barely half  the speed of those impetuous youngsters who are yet to be saddled with the life preserving sense of danger that envelopes and protects me on every outing on the bike.

We are usually able to walk through this wood without seeing another soul and can linger a while and listen to the quiet sounds around us as we watch the trees for the movement of squirrels.  Sometimes we'll drop a pebble down one of the mineshafts and count the seconds before it hits the bottom.  Being restricted to one area means we notice changes more keenly.  Already we're beginning to see new buds and catkins as the first signs of regeneration appear on the trees.  It may still be the middle of winter, but in January you can stand on February's back and just about see June.

And then there are those huge filthy puddles.  If they're surrounded by mud on all sides they're usually the easiest route to take anyway, so don't just walk past them; get your welly boots on and stand in them and roll back the years.  It's what they're there for.  After all, why else would they even exist?

Taken in: UK / England / St. Day / Tolgullow (show map)

Taken on: January 9, 2021

Tags:

Unity Wood

woods

Cornwall

winter

lockdown

mud

tracks

trees

tree

treescape

panoramic

panorama

Scorrier

Redruth

puddles

silence

stillness

outdoor

Kernow « less

Sets appears in: • Bissoe Trail • Unity Woods more » • Trees « less

Groups appears in: • Amateurs • South West England more » • Cornwall - Kernow • Cornwall Flickr Users • Flickr Social Club • Flickr Social « less

Camera: Canon EOS 80D, f/6.3, 1/25 sec, 35mm, ISO 800 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 80D
Lens:	18-35mm
Aperture:	f/6.3
Exposure Time:	0.04 sec (1/25)
Focal Length:	35mm
ISO:	800
Exposure Bias:	0 EV
Flash:	Off, Did not fire
Exposure Program:	Manual
Exposure Mode:	Manual
Metering Mode:	Partial
White Balance:	Auto
Color Space:	sRGB
Software:	Adobe Photoshop Lightroom Classic 10.1 (Windows)
Show full info

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