Dreamers, there seem to be a lot of us.
If you look at Twitter you can meet lots of dreamers.
Dreaming is good,
Dreaming is the beginning of the journey.
I remember as a child being told that, 'Dreams don't come true.'
Well, I can tell you now, that is not true.
It's all about self belief.
Our best friend and worst enemy is our head.
We spend so much time negotiating with ourselves why we can't do something:
-not enough time,
-not enough money,
-not good enough.
Gone on add a few of your own...
Now write a list of what you want to do:
-pin it to your fridge,
-your bathroom mirror,
Read it out loud,
read it to trusted (note, I say trusted) friends and family.
they must be YOUR dreams,
things that excite YOU,
things that make YOU feel good and,
Then set about making them happen...
YES YOU CAN
It's true to say that sometimes people can say things that unhinge you. It happens, sometimes it's not meant to be hurtful, but it might catch a raw nerve, a secret insecurity and before you know it you find yourself trundling, unhappily down a well-worn path that you have seen all too often. It's too easy to do.
We don't really know how other people think, or why they say the things they do. We only know how we think and we can control that. These words just came to me as I tried to rationalise a crap comment that someone made,
'You can get tripped up by thoughtless words or choose to dance through life's ditches'
I'll get my wellies.
Today, I'm driving John to Westonbirt Arboretum. I met John twelve years ago when I first started out as a photographer specialising in gardens. He owned a vast garden, some 36 acres. Most of it was managed woodland, but a few acres surrounding the house was filled with special trees from all over the world collected by John and underplanted with a wonderment of beautiful plants. On that first visit John marched me round the garden naming every single tree and how he had come by them, his memory was impressive, it still is. Over the years I went to the garden at all times of year to photograph it. It really was a special place, which he opened to the public and for school visits.
A couple of years ago, John's wife and tireless gardener quite suddenly suffered from a form of dementia. She became very muddled and within a short time John decided to sell and move to a smaller house to look after her. That was two years ago, we all miss Homecovert, but especially John who was 90 this year, he can still remember every single tree in his garden.
I popped in to see him in January and he mentioned that he had been invited to a special day at the arboretum for dendrologists but didn't think that he would be able to go, I offered to drive him up there. So today, I'm driving my old friend and mentor John to Westonbirt.
I went to Norfolk last week for a couple of photo shoots. The weather was the worst two days in the last couple of months, but it was all planned and deadlines were looming. So I packed up my gear and headed off across the breadth of England.
Driving across Wiltshire and past Stonehenge is always the best bit, I love this road; the fields stretch to the horizon, dark clouds scud across the arching sky. There is a lot of sky. The clouds were menacing but the sun spat shafts of light across the fields, lighting up carpets of new shoots and the skeletons of trees bursting with energy, ready to stage their annual performance.
All too soon I reached Stonehenge and the A303, which shoots off towards London, splices with the M3 before becoming entangled with the hateful M25. The weather worsened as I headed eastwards. However, I saw this, the memory of the light behind the trees stayed with me until I got home, then I painted it.
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