… of course it’s not — we stalked across the field … not sure what we could see — if it was a bird on a post; it was huge, vast, frightening … but it didn’t move … at all.
Perhaps it was just a dead, twisted remnant of gorse.
And then it did, of course, as we got too near.
It was a buzzard.
When it took flight and dipped and swooped to the nearest but safe vantage point, it diminished — it was still large … but quantifiable, conforming, believable.
And it left behind its shit. Accumulated crap. An archival ossuary.
And a beautiful still life.
Depressed and distressed but disenchanted and disenfranchised by politics and the reporting thereof … and then, in one of of those strange serendipitous moments, I’d just seen Cézanne’s Onions in a book and moments later was captivated by the flickering, raking winter sunlight setting the onions in the kitchen aglow, like jewels … and thought: why not? Or even: how could you not?
Hmmm … but something must have gone wrong somewhere.
I was after simplicity, beauty, serenity, honesty, even a sort of Van Gogh, onions and red cabbage, earthiness … and N saw something menacing, threatening.
Back to the drawing board … or not — maybe we’re both right.
Three of the Nine Maidens at Boskednan … Carn Galva in the background.
There are actually eleven stones, two are fallen. Their even spacing suggests that the site was originally laid out as a perfect circle, about 22 metres in diameter, made up of 22 or 23 stones with smooth inner faces.
Actually the iconic Greenburrow engine house at the western end of Ding Dong mine.
Reputed to be the oldest mine in Cornwall and around here they say it has been worked since before Christ.
Perhaps … but it was definitely where Richard Trevithick, the great mining engineer, pioneered high pressure steam in 1797.