The weather forecast (and it was not wrong) was for sunshine on our writing day so finally we made it to an outdoor venue. The Royal Botanical Gardens are well worth a visit in any season but the first day of meteorological Spring rolling round with some warm sunshine was a day for basking in its managed splendour.
Five minute exercise
The initial task today, to get us into the mindset of not relying on our sight to describe our surroundings, is to write for a few minutes on anything at all that we observe or feel but try to not focus on what we see but on what we hear, smell, touch or taste.
Close to the cafe was a gorgeous crop of bamboo. So although I had suggested we all wander off to find something, I hardly went ten feet.
The leaves of the bamboo are smooth on the top side and rough on the underside; like grass, which of course it is.
The dry stalks of the leaves rustle and crackle lightly in the wind and the hard canes knock together with a hollow tapping sounds. I imagine that the tapping becomes like a heavy clatter in windy weather.
As usual it was a little tougher than I expected and a few minutes goes by very quickly. But it was enough to get me thinking about my other senses for the main task.
Main Task
To find an object, a vista, something inanimate that we could engage with and write about, either ourselves, a character or someone we observed, focusing on utilising as many senses as possible. I did not proscribe using sight but encouraged everyone to not rely on it alone.
There was an odd shaped bench looking south over the city. Tucked in by some shrubs it was more peaceful and private than the row of other, more regular benches in front of Inverleith House. The following was etched into the bench; Kerry Napuk 1939-2014 "your light made life blaze"
The Shovellers
It was sunny. The man sat on the Kerry Napuk bench. It was oddly shaped and quite upright but it was secluded and the tapered shape begged to be laid on. He swung his legs round and lowered his head.
His feet were higher than his head, not by much, but after a few minutes he could hear his blood in his ears. His pulse slowed as the sun's warmth gently seeped into his bones.
He took a slow breath, inhaling the smell of the bark mulch very slowly rotting in the flower beds around him, it was sweet.
Above him the mosaic of twigs stood out against the azure sky, the deep chocolate branches were gnarled and chunky. Spring birdsong floated down over him. He closed his eyes.
He dozed. Aware of the sound of people passing by, of a train in the distance, someone knocking or hammering in the park. Nothing jarring, and he drifted.
Someone laughed. A metal scraping sound over tarmac, then the creak of an old wheel. Another scrape and another, then the soft thud of material deposited in the barrow until it was full; the creaky wheel again and the cascading shudder as it landed in the flowerbed.
The sweet scent of blossom wafted over him, mingled with rich mulching leaves, heated by the sun.
More laughter. The shovelling had stopped. He got up; he should help them. His break ended long ago.
Thoughts
The Botanics were, and are, a lovely location for writing in and about. Something I had not thought about was how much human noise there would be in a "natural" environment. It is highly managed of course but also close to roads and railways and, unsurprisingly on a sunny day, popular.
Focusing on senses other than sight was a useful exercise and one that will bear repeating. We are all visual creatures but when it comes to expressing emotions, evoking memories or illustrating a rounded experience it is worthwhile to utilise our other sensory organs.
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