A yellow field, somewhere

There is a yellow field, nestling in a small valley, which sways gently in the breeze. It is surrounded by deep green trees and amongst them, a thatched cottage sits with an elevated view across the scene. I haven’t found it yet, but I have found many picturesque alternatives on my travels. Like this one, in canton Fribourg.

A yellow field, somewhere

Schilthornhütte, Switzerland

A small mountain cabin overlooking the Bluemental valley serves as a restaurant for hikers in the summer and for skiiers in winter. Between seasons, when the restaurant is closed, the spot is a blissfully peaceful point on the mountain, to which only determined walkers come. The Birg mountain station overlooks the scene, and on a summit in the distance, the…

Schilthornhütte, Switzerland

My England

My England is green and pleasant. In my mind’s eye, the countryside is green and rolling, with occasional villages surrounding leafy, oaked cricket pitches or busy duck ponds. The lanes of my youth lead past scattering pheasants and floral hedgerows which echo the sound of a slightly ropey semi-classic British sports car. Towns are timbered and bricked, with low-ceilinged pubs smelling…

My England

The boy on a pogo stick

Roses wave gently in the breeze, and a wood pigeon coos from a tree, unseen. A cyclist glides silently by and a muffled, childish swear word echoes quietly from a nearby football pitch. Bees buzz, breezes waft, and a boy bounces past on a pogo stick.

The boy on a pogo stick

The view that isn’t quite there

Somewhere in the hills which push up the wall of rock on the western end of the Bernese Alps, there is a view. A view of rolling hills, green trees, little farm buildings and forested land. Beyond them, the sparkling turquoise-blue water of the Thunersee, with the impossibly white, impossibly high range of mountains which stand guard over the Jungfrau…

The view that isn’t quite there

Basse Ville

I regain a holiday feeling by sitting in an old town square, eating pizza, whilst locals perch on a wall, smoking cigarettes before a little bus arrives and rattles them away. Swifts and martins race through the narrow lanes, far above us, to catch their own dinner. The sun slowly retreats up the old stone buildings surrounding us, and fades abruptly from…

Basse Ville