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A shadow of myself

Late spring, early summer, a lovely time of year to be out walking and taking photos.  I am spoilt by the beautiful Wiltshire landscape which surrounds me. What a colourful world: the newly-chalked white horse on the Cherhill downs demands attention; the patchwork fields of the yellow oil-seed rape against green grass, dazzle the eye; elegant racehorses from Beckhampton Stables, like exotic wasps, with their black and orange striped saddle blankets, exercise on the Marlborough downs.

Everywhere hedges are full of flowering rowan, white clusters, to fend off witches, so they say; glimpses of rosy tipped crab apple buds, frothy flowers of the elder, and the last of the blackthorn flowers, which like a bit of chilly weather and, from a distance, themselves resemble falls of snow.

And always the cherry trees, branches full of pink meringue blossom, set against blue sky or red brick work as I walk through a Devizes churchyard. Petals gather underfoot, to disappear in an eye blink – a confetti spray, in a gust of wind, to gather again in some corner, kerb or gully.

I look down at my shadow cast across the path, the line of pink petals caught in a ridge alongside the grass. I am part of the pattern of nature. And apart. The beauty of that moment captured for ever with a tap on my phone.

I follow my shadow to see where else it goes.