Sunset and Moonrise

It’s hard to believe that spring is coming but it is – no, really. The birds are singing with renewed vigour and in the garden buds are fattening, the heads of hyacinths are poking through the waterlogged soil and every evening the sun sets a little later. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s still snowing in many places where it’s been snowing for months, but the return of the sun is inexorable.

At the beginning of the month we were in Hampshire where the scoured hills lay naked and shivering waiting for the first crop of the year to mantle them. The beginning of February is about as bleak as it gets in the UK, trees stand as bare as pylons and wind scourged hedgerows bleached by frost are choked with the dead straws of last summer.

Is it any wonder that people at this time of year are desperate to be reminded that summer will return? Ever since people have lived on these islands we have waited for the signs – any sign – that winter will soon be over. February 2nd is the day that many people tired of winter associate with the return of the sun and wether you call this date Imbolc, St Brigids day, Candlemass (or in the US and Canada, Groundhog day) I think we are all united in one simple desire – to see the start of spring.

Imbolc was a beautiful cold frosty day and as wintry as you can imagine, but it was the first time we’d seen the sun in a good long while.  I spent the day stalking through hedgerows (and I may write about what I saw there in another post), and as the sun sank low on the horizon a two minute miracle occurred. An ash tree in the hedgerow before me was struck golden by the falling rays of the sun, and it flamed against the brilliance of the deep blue winter sky.

As I approached I realised that the tree was full of Fieldfares, a shy migratory thrush we have seen in extraordinary numbers this winter. One by one they streamed from the tree as I got closer, their harsh alarm calls filling the air. I was distracted by sounds in the hedgerow – deer! and when I looked up again, the tree was grey and silent once more. But when I looked in the other direction, I saw this

And this

Later that evening as we knew that the moon would be full, we decided to go and watch it rise and light candles in thanks that the sun would be returning again tomorrow. The sky had clouded over and in truth we didn’t expect to see anything. Then with uncanny timing the clouds parted as we reached our vantage point and slowly a vast amber moon hoisted itself into the sky.

For more beautiful and fascinating images of the sky around the world, visit Skywatch Friday!

Derwentwater Sunset

It’s hard for me to believe that this sunset was little over a month ago – so much has happened since then, summer has all but arrived and I’ve been to so many other places both physically and mentally. It was the evening of our first full day of camping on the shore of Derwentwater, a day of speeding clouds and thick, blanketing drizzle of the kind that is utterly miserable everywhere else but familiar and atmospheric on the fells.

Just as we were starting to cook dinner back at the tent, the clouds parted and we were treated to a spectacular sunset that went on for an hour or more, the clouds that were passing across Catbells somehow still catching sunlight long after higher cloud had bled to grey.

For more beautiful and fascinating images of the sky around the world, visit Skywatch Friday!

Winter Sunset

Yesterday I wrote of walking in a once-in-a-generation icy landscape, and mentioned that I had been transfixed by the sunset at the end of the walk. I’m going to save my words today and just show you the sunset that kept me outside that little bit longer.

Want to see more of my cold weather pictures? Here’s a link to my account of  the rest of this Icy Hampshire Winter Walk, and another to Frosty Winter Fields.

For more beautiful and fascinating images of the sky around the world, visit Skywatch Friday!

St Agnes Sunset

Welcome skywatchers! Ready for a glorious sunset? My first Skywatch Friday was such fun that I knew at last I’d have a chance to share one of my favourite views of all time, and here it is. This was taken from the camp site on St Agnes, a tiny island off the southwest coast of Britain. R and I holiday there most summers, staying in our little tent on a camp site that looks directly out onto the Atlantic, with seals and seabirds as our neighbours and the best sunsets I have ever seen anywhere, bar none. The crashing waves are our lullaby and I would sooner not go at all than swap this little piece of heaven for the comfort of a hotel.

This is the exact view that we get as we are cooking dinner.  The ocean is studded with the silhouettes of jagged uninhabited islands, and far away on the horizon is the sweeping light of Bishop’s rock lighthouse. Seabirds call to one another as they fly to their roosts, and eventually, if the air is not too damp, the sky will be crammed with stars.

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PS: To those of you using Blogger:- Some of you have your comment settings in such a way that I can’t come and say hi and thank you for your visits or tell you how fantastic your latest shot is; I don’t have a blogger or open ID account. I just wanted to say thank you for your kind comments as I don’t want you to think I’m being rude and ignoring you!

The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats

Thanks to Roadgurl5 for introducing me to Skywatch Friday

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EDIT:- So many of you lovely Skywatch people who are commenting here and have Blogger blogs… I can’t return the favour because of your comment settings! Please don’t think I don’t appreciate your visit, I truly do. Thank you!