Lockington, East Yorkshire. Pen and ink sketch.

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Thoughts and reminiscences of a day sketching in Lockington.

After coffee in Carluccio’s

I collected George, 

For his second walk,

Before remembering,
From last night's
MNDA 40th anniversary celebration,
At the Minster,
Someone mentioning, that,

Over at Lockington,

In the village hall,
In the 'Old Schoolhouse',

Beside a stream,

Over a ford,
By The Ancient Willow,

An exhibition of

Photographs was being held.

It was a varied,

Excellent exhibition

Reflecting views,

Being reflected,

As well as

Macro shots of 

Compound eyes.......
So I stayed for tea and cake.

Walking George  along a road,
Besides a stream,
Which acted, rather like a moat,
With small,
Timbered bridges,
'Weight limit 1 ton',
I pass two ladies,
One, with a wheelbarrow.

A freezer had broken.
So one of the women,
(The one with the wheelbarrow),
Had volunteered to
Use her freezer,
For her friend.
They inquired about George,
Surprised he was an older dog,
As he is still playfully bouncy.
When I said "I was looking for a view to paint",
They mentioned Hockney,
His use of colour,
"Oh, haven't you met him"
I replied,
(Making a mental note to drop off a couple of calendars).

At the other end of the village,

On the road looking for a view,
I noticed,
Two interesting, intriguing,
Faded, 

Overgrown,
And stained with rust,

Square,
White,
Hollow iron columns,

Partly hidden,
Mysteriously

Suggesting a gateway,
Or an entrance
To an ancient pathway,
Though no sign gave a clue.
Perhaps it was an old coffin path,
The village Church was not far away.

Tentatively, we wandered into the overgrown
Enclosed green path, slightly relieved,
To see signs that others had walked this way.

We wandered this new path

Passing cattle,

Contentedly grazing.

Their beautiful, big black, eye lashed eyes

Contemplating perhaps, 

The dominant presence

Of a rippling, white,
Twitching,

Quiet,

Huge,

White Charolais bull.

The path led to a deep stream,

Where a moorhen cracked, and noisily skip, skimmed away,

Alerting another which,
On long green legs, ran over a field,

To a sanctuary place.

Another adventure for George,
Who sniffed happily the fresh smells,
As we walked

Along apparently,

I was later told,

An adjudged permissive path.

Over a wooden bridge,

We emerged, at the oddly,

Much altered church,

Which was open,

Welcoming, and
Invited 

Us to sit quietly awhile,

In this peaceful place.

Back on a village road,

I stood near a driveway,

And plugged in,

Looking at a white fronted cottage.

Noises behind me made me turn,

A man, perhaps a novice, was riding

A young alert looking horse,

It was a beautiful light chestnut,

And they moved towards me, 

Both the rider and horse,

Were supervised by another person

Walking alongside.

A reassuring presence as
Traffic passed,

Slowly,

Widely,

Quietly.

I carried on drawing.

A few minutes later 

They returned and passed me again,

Whereupon I said

'Well Driven'

To a grateful, and now, smiling man.

I carried on drawing, observing, looking, adjusting.

Then, a red Countryman
( not a Commoner with social values, just a common car, or should I say 'popular' )
Emerged from the graveled drive in front of me,

Mother and daughter I suspected,

Two minutes later they returned,

Forgotten something?

Then set off again.

Hardly anyone passed me as I drew,

Though a runner did pass, alone,

Collecting on her return

A cyclist companion.

"Aye aye, Ow do."

I carried on drawing,

Then decided to stop

And head for home,

Via the Pipe and Glass,

Where the wi-fi is still not working,

To feed George.

Just about to set off and met

A father and daughter,

They liked the picture and we chatted,

Serendipity.... I thought.

Just a slight suggestion of colour.