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puddlesharkIt stopped raining. Just for one day. Blue sky and sunshine, and a northeasterly wind blowing bitter cold and strong enough to ground the skylarks - no song above the fields today. But this might be our only day of sunshine this month, so I set off for another walk on the high ground near the coast.
Kingston village at sunrise.
The church tower Jackdaws on their noisy morning patrol flight around the village.
Left behind the village, and took the bleak farm lane that runs through the high open fields, not a hedge or a dry stone wall to shelter behind. Kept an eye out for hares, and was rewarded with a glimpse of three hares chasing each other in a field by Orchard Hill Farm (too far away for a photo, sadly).
The lane dwindles to a stone track.
Female Stonechat, I think.
Across the fields, to Heaven's Gate, to sit on the weathered wooden memorial bench, drinking coffee with my coat hood up, and the bitter northeasterly wind buffeting my back. Admired the view along the coast, while my feet froze. It was beautiful, as ever, but I couldn't stay long.
Then back through the fields, and along the rim of the bowl of Encombe, walking into the teeth of the wind.
Reaching the shelter of the windbreak woods halfway along, I suddenly found myself out of the wind, and it was a glorious day. But the respite didn't last long. The wind found me again on the long bleak farm lane back to Kingston.
The stone cottages of Kingston in the sunlight.
The slender tower of the Old Church.
The two towers. In the foreground, the tower of the Old Church of 1833 by Repton, and in the distance, the tower of St James, 1873-1880, by Street.
St James. I visited it back in 2019, and found it gloomy and oppressive. I nipped in again today, to see whether it would have a different atmosphere on a sunny day, but it turns out that sunlight really struggles to find its way into this church through the dark stained glass windows, and even on a bright day the interior is dark and silent. More mausoleum than church.
The rose window.
Job.
St Denis. The stained glass by Clayton & Bell was never particularly high quality, and it is not ageing well.
Kingston village at sunrise.
The church tower Jackdaws on their noisy morning patrol flight around the village.
Left behind the village, and took the bleak farm lane that runs through the high open fields, not a hedge or a dry stone wall to shelter behind. Kept an eye out for hares, and was rewarded with a glimpse of three hares chasing each other in a field by Orchard Hill Farm (too far away for a photo, sadly).
The lane dwindles to a stone track.
Female Stonechat, I think.
Across the fields, to Heaven's Gate, to sit on the weathered wooden memorial bench, drinking coffee with my coat hood up, and the bitter northeasterly wind buffeting my back. Admired the view along the coast, while my feet froze. It was beautiful, as ever, but I couldn't stay long.
Then back through the fields, and along the rim of the bowl of Encombe, walking into the teeth of the wind.
Reaching the shelter of the windbreak woods halfway along, I suddenly found myself out of the wind, and it was a glorious day. But the respite didn't last long. The wind found me again on the long bleak farm lane back to Kingston.
The stone cottages of Kingston in the sunlight.
The slender tower of the Old Church.
The two towers. In the foreground, the tower of the Old Church of 1833 by Repton, and in the distance, the tower of St James, 1873-1880, by Street.
St James. I visited it back in 2019, and found it gloomy and oppressive. I nipped in again today, to see whether it would have a different atmosphere on a sunny day, but it turns out that sunlight really struggles to find its way into this church through the dark stained glass windows, and even on a bright day the interior is dark and silent. More mausoleum than church.
The rose window.
Job.
St Denis. The stained glass by Clayton & Bell was never particularly high quality, and it is not ageing well.
