I have been trying to write an article about granite, but the phrases will not flow. I imagine the words, heavy and piled on top of each other, like the massive boulders at the summit of Cornwall's tors and carns.
I give up and go out into the sunshine.
At Bassetts Cove I hear the bleating of sheep, the call of a pheasant, and the endless susurration of the sea. On a sheltered hedge the first clump of Thrift is out, and there are green shoots breaking through in the ploughed field.
I meet two stylish blonde ladies. One, from nearby Illogan, is wearing a peach- coloured hoody. The other, who has come to care for her elderly father, is in a neat black track suit. They drive off in a Jag.
By the time I reach the granite gate post at the entrance to Tehidy Country park I am discovering the poetry in the landscape again - even in the stone.
In the woods the ground is covered with celandines, primroses and the blind spikes of bluebells. A grey and brown buzzard glides, at head height, through the moss-wrapped, sun-dappled trees.
Heather Hosking
I give up and go out into the sunshine.
At Bassetts Cove I hear the bleating of sheep, the call of a pheasant, and the endless susurration of the sea. On a sheltered hedge the first clump of Thrift is out, and there are green shoots breaking through in the ploughed field.
I meet two stylish blonde ladies. One, from nearby Illogan, is wearing a peach- coloured hoody. The other, who has come to care for her elderly father, is in a neat black track suit. They drive off in a Jag.By the time I reach the granite gate post at the entrance to Tehidy Country park I am discovering the poetry in the landscape again - even in the stone.
In the woods the ground is covered with celandines, primroses and the blind spikes of bluebells. A grey and brown buzzard glides, at head height, through the moss-wrapped, sun-dappled trees.
Heather Hosking
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