It feels and looks like spring in the park as everything wakes up.

The daffodils are blazing across the grassy banks . . .

. . . although the snowdrops are a little more subtle . . .

Even a robin sits in a magnolia tree to survey the park . . .

. . . and the ducks are pairing up and getting frisky.

Spring’s arriving.

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Pussy willow is bursting out again. It amazes me every year.

And other trees are producing leaves and shoots too.

Something new appears every day at this time of year.

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I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier February morning.

At Bicclescombe Park Ilfracombe, North Devon, the sun seemed to want to play tennis . . .

. . . while a sleepy pigeon blinked in the bright morning light.

The trees are blushing with blossom . . .

. . . and the Wilder Brook in full flow.

In the distance, sheep are grazing on the Torrs . . .

. . . while the sun lit up the Round House on the Cairn.

What a great way to start the week!

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As well as uncovering its ancient historic past as a hill fort, the work clearing vegetation from Hillsborough is making it easier to appreciate different views of Ilfracombe, North Devon, especially the harbour.

We were up there this afternoon in glorious sunshine and, luckily, had my camera with me. I should have taken a tripod as a northerly wind off the sea made it difficult to hold the camera steady. Nevertheless I hope these photos give an idea . . .

It’s good to see construction of steps to make the paths easier to climb. All in all, it is making Hillsborough not only more interesting, but even more enjoyable for residents and visitors alike.

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I just had to climb up Capstone Hill, Ilfracombe today.

It was worth it, even on a grey day.

The sea, the sky, the statue . . .

. . . commemorating Ekaterine (Kate) Frolov, who fell to her death from Hillsborough, the hill in the background, in 2000.

And, looking South, Ilfracombe itself.

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The alarm clock seems to have gone off for many plants which are springing to life.

At Bicclescombe Park in Ilfracombe, North Devon, we have blossom on trees, blooming daffodils and snowdrops in flower.

In our garden the chives, mint and lemon balm are waking up.

Camellias, fuschias and hyacinths are also emerging . . .

. . . and crocuses and heather are blooming.

A wonderful time of year.

Posted via email from robertz

Peace. Sometimes silence, stillness, harmony, serenity: all sanctuary from head-piercing, rushabout insanity.

Born under aircraft screaming on descent to Heathrow Airport, I have always cherished peace. Although I used to sleep untroubled by any noise – planes, traffic, trains – perhaps all my tolerance has now been consumed.

I loved quiet from an early age. I can remember the loud timekeeping of our cuckoo clock when, occasionally unable to sleep as a child, I went downstairs in what seemed to me the middle of the night, but to nightbirds was still early. The slow, wooden rhythm of the clock’s tick tock emphasised the silence in between. As much as it tried to help time pass, all stood still to that small boy.

My first memory of what seemed total silence is of a school history field trip to Shropshire. Returning from an evening in a rural pub to the unwelcoming centre where we were staying, I remember noticing the total absence of motion and background noise: no planes, no traffic, no hum of town and machinery and motors.

Then, at university, I luxuriated in the solitude of winter’s day walks by the fountain in the Inner Circle of Regent’s Park. In those days Bedford College’s classics department was appropriately based in St John’s Lodge and I purposely arrived early to walk in the park. The rustling of the trees in the wind masked the traffic noise from nearby Marylebone Road and Baker Street. Was I really in the middle of London?

Then several decades of whirlwind activity, buzz and noise: working at Heathrow, in London, in town and city . . . until there was no peace.

On a Sunday morning in our house a mile west of Windsor, the first aircraft flew in to land about 6.30. Another followed every 90 seconds to two minutes. I couldn’t relax on a Sunday morning. I wanted peace. The time had come to move.

Always a city boy, I had dreamt of living in the countryside for many years. And so we moved 200 miles west to Ilfracombe in North Devon. 50 miles from a motorway instead of 2. 60 miles from an international airport instead of 7 or 8. Not much traffic, not many people. It is calm and quiet.

On a Sunday morning, on any morning, I can wake up and hear nothing outside. I can relax.

Is life boring? No, there are many challenges, much to do and much to be done in this town.

But I have found peace.

Posted via email from robertz