I went out again to the mountain this evening. I realised that the pure consistency of showing up there, day after day, is in itself valuable, and worth at least as much as anything else that I do.
Although the grasses, reeds and thorn trees are still sparse and dry after the cold, there has been a gradual change, a lifting of the winter. There is a smell of spring and of soil. Today I lay down on a mossy hummock and listened to the birds in the thickets.
I am fascinated by the photos that I take as the light is falling away and things are disappearing, and I sent off today for many of my mountain photos of the last few months to be printed, to try to use them with the small drawings and paintings that I am making.
These ones seem like too much sweetness, but this is pretty close to what I saw – apart from some strange effects of the camera, and apart from the way that the sky goes right over and all the way around…