26/07/2011 by Ted.

 FROM THE ONCE UNCLUTTERED BUT STILL BEAUTIFUL “ENERGY COAST” OF SOUTH WEST CUMBRIA.

(Plagiarised whilst on a solitary walk on a Cumbria beach)

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of monstrous grey windmills;
Above the sands, upon the seas,
A devilish churning in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Rotating heads in morbid dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
O’er-powered the sparkling waves in glee:
Enough to turn a Cumbrian grey,
Was such a  graceless company:
I gazed—and gazed—and deeply thought
What sad exchange the show had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart, indignant, fills,
At England’s new satanic ‘mills.

E.L. Talbot  ©

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21/07/2011 by Ted.

Evolution is consciousness at work.

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12/07/2011 by Ted.

Some people choose to swim with dolphins, or even sharks.

I swim with trout - baby trout, that is, hardly larger than tiddlers.  They live in a nearby lake known to many people, but where there are still secret places known only to a few. And there I swim hidden from the nearby road by a thick screen of wild vegetation alive with the song of birds and the scents of blossom.

To many the location would be not much to speak of. A rough concrete boulder - a relic of a past industrial era - is a seat, but when the wind is in the right direction and the sun is shining it becomes the next best place to heaven.  Today conditions are just right and the calm water sparkles under the hazy sun. Tiny wavelets, hardly more than ripples, lap the thin strand of sand at the edge of the water.  Behind the sand lies a mishmash of flotsam - weed dredged up from the depths of the lake during the winter storms, preened feathers from swans, ducks and geese which, discarded, have drifted with the wind to their present resting place tangled with the weed. Here and there small flies scurry across the weed and feathers, narrowly avoiding the incoming wavelets as they look for tit-bits.

Further out the water suddenly ripples as if by magic as tiny trout chase anything floating that might prove to be edible.  Out of mischief I flick a tiny rolled up ball of paper to where they are rising and watch it twirl around and bob and move along as they investigate it’s meal potential - eventually giving up when the tiny ball reaches water too shallow for even they to swim. And still, on the water, the sun glints and sparkles, and the whole scene is pervaded with a great peace.

A gentle movement. I turn my head and watch as a white swan glides into view - followed soon by three half grown youngsters, and then the swan’s mate.  They look my way and then, unconcerned, continue closer inshore to the shallower water.  Just a few feet away from me the adults lower their long slender necks into the water to reach the weed below.  For the younger ones this is a reach too far, so they up-end their tails to enable their submerged heads to reach the weed.  And so they continue for ten or fifteen minutes eventually drifting away further into deeper water.

It is time to swim. and I try to swim gently - as the swans had done - but I wonder what the little trout think.  Am I, to them, just another huge piece of flotsam to be investigated as a food source?  If so, I am not aware of their nibbles.  The water is just right on a perfect day, and afterwards, as I make my way home for my tea, I look forward to the next time the wind and sun will be be just right for another friendly and delightful session of “Swimming with Trout”.

E.L. Talbot  ©

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