In the earlier months of the summer, nature is such flood of colour, of life, but once we reach July that flood seems to break its bounds. Suddenly its exhuberance looks wild and uncontrolled. At Sun Rising, we strive to maintain a balance between the managed areas, that are tidy and accessible, and the untamed extravagance of nature: it is by mid July that I feel nature is laughing at the very idea. The wildflower meadows are waist high with flowers and grasses, the purples of musk mallow, knapweed, red clover, meadow cranesbill, various thistles and field scabious mixed in with the brilliant yellows of trefoils, rattle and bedstraw, the occasional buttercup reaching through into the light, and the grasses are going to seed, with soft mauve and palest gold.
And when the wind comes, and bursts of summer rain, the grasses are starting to lie down, and suddenly it feels chaotic. I sit in the grass, lie back and watch the clouds, listening to the grass hoppers and honey bees, and think of the human condition: the inner chaos of our thoughts and emotions which, like wild storms across a landscape, can leave us feeling totally disordered. Yet taking a moment just to breathe in the quiet hum of the natural world, to watch the flora and fauna getting on with life in their own way, gradually, slowly, gently, nature guides us to feel how it all fits together again.