Holly Farm, Lockington, East Yorkshire.

Holly Farm, Lockington.

Now for sale £250

24th January 2020.

Morning coffee at Carluccio’s with a friend before taking advantage of the bright sunny weather to produce a picture. After finishing I took George for a walk through the village where I chatted with a couple from Village Farm, who, having excellent taste, remarked that George was a magnificent dog. They pointed out the significance of the mustard yellow paint, much in evidence on the nearby farm building, how it was an estate colour. We also chatted about corbled brickwork and the notion that an extended building, with older bricks underneath the newer addition, was probably, originally a thatched building. The huge agricultural brickbuilt buildings, the ones with mustard yellow paintwork, formally stores and stables were made from hand made bricks, remarkable.
As dusk was developing I saw a miraculous murmuration of starlings. Initially they grouping was loose and not too dramatic. As I watched, more starlings arrowed into the group which then became tighter, and as they circled, they produced fractals of organized confusion. Another couple had stopped to look and I mentioned Mozart's starling, how he had been devastated when it died and which also may have given Mozart some musical inspiration. I recalled a trip here yesterday and a walk where mistletoe was spotted, my first actual sighting, seeing it growing wild.
Then to the ..Pipe and Glass for a coffee and candled hands.

HAPPY PAINTING.

 Mozart's transcribed poem for his starling.

Here rests a bird called Starling,
A foolish little Darling.
He was still in his prime
When he ran out of time,
And my sweet little friend
Came to a bitter end,
Creating a terrible smart
Deep in my heart.
Gentle Reader! Shed a tear,
For he was dear,
Sometimes a bit too jolly
And, at times, quite folly,
But nevermore
A bore.
I bet he is now up on high
Praising my friendship to the sky,
Which I render
Without tender;
For when he took his sudden leave,
Which brought to me such grief,
He was not thinking of the man
Who writes and rhymes as no one can