Wytham Woods Days

There have been days of light
There have been days of wind
There have been days of cold fingers
There have been days of leaf-dance
There have been days of silent watching
There have been days of flying crows
There have been days of chill wind
and warm breezes.

There have been days of scratchy drawing
There have been days of flooding colour
There have been days of feathers on the track
There have been days of wandering
There have been days of fog
and distant traffic noise.

There have been days when all is vertical
There have been days of clear blue sky
There have been days of distraction
There have been days of hill climbing
and getting lost

There have been black and white days
There have been days of hidden birds singing
There have been days to smell smoke
There have been days of silver
There have been days to watch
There have been days without time
and days without voice

There have been days to wear thick coats
There have been days of brown and ochre
There have been days with distant horizons
There have been days of thought and mortality
Fleeting days and days of song

There have been days where seconds turn to hours
There have been days of impatience
There have been days of failure
There have been days of abundant soft greens
There have been days of damp feet
There have been days of coloured greys
There have been days of tangled branches
There have been days of sticks and twigs and dew wet grass
There have been days of lichen and moss
There have been days without maps or direction
There have been days of simple pleasure
There have been days of ecstatic presence
and days of sorrow

There have been days of rain and frost and snow
and mist and grey cloud cover
There have been days sheltering from rain
Under old oaks
There have been days of chainsaw song
There have been days of log piles

There have been days of long shadows cast on ploughed earth
There have been days of redwings, jays, pigeons, blue-tits, red kites
There have been days caught in colour
There have been days marked in charcoal
There have been days whistled
Days whispered and days forgotten

There have been days staring to the church yard where my family is buried
There have been days missing
There have been days locked out
There have been days of indescribable colour
There have been days of total happiness
There have been days of solitary crows
There have been days of gathering rooks

There have been full days
There have been days of stinging nettles and butterflies
There have been days when the year turned
There have been days of equinox
There have been days of equilibrium
There have been days without end

There have been days I recognise nothing
No names for trees or flowers or insects or fungi or stones or animal tracks or lost voices or the year just gone

Mostly there have been days to paint

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Andrew Walton’s paintings of Wytham Woods can be seen
in the window of the Rowley Gallery throughout April.

Andrew Walton / The Rowley Gallery

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If you enjoyed this you might also like to see
Andrew’s earlier blogpost – Painting Wytham.