I was inspired by Tania Kindersley’s blog post yesterday (you must read her words, they are always inspiring or/and thoughtful) to put up pictures I took over the years out of the window of our old house in the middle of nowhere in Southwest England.
It’s taken me a little while to be able to look at these pictures without feeling sad and maudlin. The old house was such a perfect place to host a family Christmas in the bleak midwinter. Fires roaring, dogs snoozing, candles flickering….
Similarly, it was the place to be on a hot summer’s day when we could just wander in the gardens, or open up all doors and windows and let the cool breeze drift through the house. This is of course a romantic view; many a time on a hot day there’d be a contractor working on the field opposite. The air would be filled with engine roar, diesel fumes and clouds of grain dust, or worse: muck spreading.
Anyway, the images below make me recall just the good times. I can’t remember why I started taking a picture of the view out of our bedroom window – perhaps it was a particularly stunning sunset, or an unusually spectacular fox hunt, but I did it for years, almost every day. I’ve chosen a few to show you, in no particular order.