This post is part of a new series on Miranda’s Notebook, Diary of a Flâneuse, which is inspired by my interview with Lauren Elkin, author of Flâneuse, and offers photographs and observations drawn from what I see in my strolls through London.
Towards the end of summer, I went on a stroll through Hampstead Heath, when the sun was setting and the light was golden. Here are some of the things I noted and photographed along the way:
swans gliding on the ponds
people dog training, almost getting pulled over by their canine friends
picnic baskets being packed away
families on bikes
a fallen log that made a good bench
rustling willow trees
Seeing the blackberries made me think of one of my favourite poems, and -incidentally – made me crave blackberry crumble, served in pretty bowls with a jar of cream to go round.
On the high iron railroad they drag their barbed wires
Through ditches, and twist
Up paths that look down over Consett, its fires gone out.
You are too young to remember.
But the sky is the colour of iron.
There is slag underfoot.
The hawthorn grows rusty. The dock rattles its seeds
Down the steep track. Each September,
Every year of our lives, Jo, we’ve climbed up here with
Where the fat berries blacken on clinker.
The urge to pick them comes stronger than hunger.
Very soon, it says, it will be winter.
So fill your pails now for the time when there will be no
Go home. Bottle them up,
Black as the midnight sky above the ironworks
Flaring red before the furnace doors clashed shut;
And over the sweet steam of the jam-pan, dream of
And blackberries in February, and the shoots that already
Shove through the dust a gift from the dead to the living,
Older than words, Jo. As old as loving.
– Katrina Porteous
Note: poem from Poetry Please: The Seasons