I don’t belong anywhere, and while that’s problematic for others, I am comfortable with it. As a child I would sit in the middle of the stairs, an exposed hiding place. Nobody stopped there, unless they consciously chose to join me.
I enjoy the spaces in between. Situations of flux, transience and shift. In the morning I ride out through the dawn, as the darkness lifts and the shadows of the landscape emerge. Night and day seeping into each other, creating intangible forms. The underbellies of owls flash silent white in my headlamps. Tiny glowing moths emerge and float towards me. Black fluttering shapes flit between shadowy fragmented hedgerows, skimming across my path.
Noises are soft and unfamiliar, or sometimes sharp in the silence of the half light. The land merges into the trees and sky, smudged layers of half tones and soft edges. Stars fade into the glow of muted pink rising from the horizon, splitting the sky between day and night. The smell of damp earth, decaying leaves and wood permeates the cool mist. A pocket of time in between, the landscape taking its first waking breaths of the day. Here your senses are shifted, you are existing in the moment of change.
A sense of belonging and not belonging. Of having no purpose or impact, being emerged in time. Feeling the elements wrapped around you, gently meeting the edge of your existence. Being still in a moment of change, grounded in a transient state.
Creative Life in Suffolk 