protected landscape at rye
December 1, 2011
At Rye Harbour Wildlife Reserve, there are various circular routes for visitors and walkers running east/west and also the odd crossing north to south. The work of dredging, fencing, path making and integrating seats and the hides seems complete. The route starts, or finishes, with a view of Rye Bay church. . . .
. . . billowing seed heads on the blackish growth of Clematis vitalba transform the hedgerows now. Looking across to Camber Castle, the bittern remained elusive but plenty of redshank and curlew generally bobbing around on and in this stretch of Castle Water. A moody landscape today . . . tones of grey here.
Towards Winchelsea Beach, the colours of the planting warm up this area with lines of salix glowing in front of the birch woods in the background. . and then, even more fiery tones of flowering gorse and fruiting roses complete the composition . . .
. . . climbing the pebble ridge and the first sight of the beach. A great sea as usual here. Never disappoints . . .
. . . Joc‘s benches have a good scale and are placed suitably – most have a dedication now . . . . . .
From one of the hides, oyster catchers can be spied at rest below the spinning turbines. It’s a raw landscape but sort of cosy and at ease with itself. Wandering through and chatting intermittently, talking about the past and the future . . . .
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things. Mary Oliver Wild Geese