January colour
The thing about the first months of a new year is they can feel - in the absence of frost and snow - a bit drab. So can we; the sense of deflation once the festivities are over, combined with short days, an alarmingly depleted bank balance and the creeping cold, often means January and February are there just to be ‘got through’.
I always like to get out for walk with my camera. The fresh air is invigorating. Getting up onto the moors gives me a sense of there being a much bigger picture where I can quite literally focus on the outside world. Take a break from winter hibernation and introspection. And photography encourages me to seek out those little ‘flashes of delight’ which are still present, even in the seemingly dormant season.
We’re fortunate enough to live somewhere very beautiful, with many moments of magic to be had. Venturing out on Christmas Eve, just as dusk fell, we saw two barn owls out hunting. The skies - streaked with pale pinks and blues - were slowly deepening into twilight, and the moon appeared exceptionally bright as it hung there, an ethereal ring around it, signalling a freezing night ahead.
That experience: the owls, the moon, and the far-reaching views across empty hills was the highlight of our Christmas. We headed home as the first stars emerged, past farmhouses and cottages cosily lit for the season, feeling festive and somehow privileged to have such wonder right on our doorstep.
Back to 2024: a favourite walk again at the weekend helped ease those early-in-the-year ‘blahs’. There was much colour to be had, from the fiery bracken to the sulphur yellow lichen and emerald, cushiony mosses.
A few years ago, I wrote a piece for a magazine about botanicals in winter. Pewter, ivory and flax are still colours - muted, subtle but beautiful nonetheless. I love bleached grasses and bare stems. And then there’s the structure of things. Unobscured by foliage, we can suddenly discover the intricate forms of umbellifers, the filigree delicacy of leaf skeletons. Flower heads become tiny stars and minuscule, exquisitely-shaped seed vessels.
Looking back at the photographs I took, I see colour and life. These January days may seem overwhelmingly grey and oppressive sometimes; the weeks of rain can feel endless. But grasping the opportunity to get outdoors, even for a short while, reaffirms what we know deep down: that there’s always something to see and marvel at, even in the months when nature is seemingly asleep.
