Today a heavy blanket of grey is covering our vault of blue and trailing veils which soften the myriad shades and tones of the green quilted fields beneath.
It isn't dull. Bright golden leaves adorn the oak and other trees as if all summer they have drunk the sun and others nestle their auburn heads together, I think they're whispering of the spring that's yet to come.
Through Windows
There was sometimes a telegraph pole,
Once I looked out and saw a shadow
of a huge owl sat against the darkening blue,
I only saw him as he took off suddenly.
Now there's trees, or cars, or sheep,
What to focus on; the tall lampposts,
Do we like to see the stars and comets
From attic window sky-lights.
-
It's dark and we're pretending we're not home,
It's quiet but we're expecting trouble.
My superstitious heart wishes something,
But I sit and watch the gathering night,
Ignoring it's mumbling and
Remembering brightly lit faces,
Laughter and in the far away spaces of memory,
Simple happiness, just silliness and joy.
Listening to acorns hit the deck ( literally ) It’s making me laugh ( inexplicably ) The season’s turning ( inexorably ) Closing my eyes I soak up the sun ( luxuriously ) Taking these moments as they come ( miraculously )
This Book
Opened up
What kind of diary are you;
Thoughts turned into marks ?
In the alchemy of your imagination
I see the ripples of creation
Thought waves radiating,
Sometimes
A momentary pause
To read this palm
Now the next
Look up and wait,
Until you see its story.
Auron went mushrooming at first light one day with her mother and father. The faerie field yielded up some treasures for them and they walked along the hedge, gathering fruits, then entered the wood at the top of the hill.
Auron and her father could hear the trees talking, as always. Mother either ignored them or pretended not to hear them, Auron wasn't sure why. Once she'd asked, mother, can you not hear the trees talking ? and she'd replied, with a shrug, what if I can, it's no business of mine.
This day, the trees sounded animated, agitated and by the time the three sat down to rest beside the pool in the clearing, the tree voices had reached such a cacophony of sound that their individual voices were indistinguishable and the whole sounded like a long, sad drone.
The little family sat in silence, listening, even the mother was paying attention now and as it eventually subsided to a whispering wind, their attention was drawn by a quiet, deep voice emanating from a nearby ancient oak.
🍃
You said I was like a feather
I felt more like a gyroscope
You said the wind will blow me
And so I climbed back on the rope
Now I'm feeling like a woman on a high wire
One slip and it's a long way down
Turn my world around I want to hear
the sound of my parachute opening
As I'm floating
Towards the ground.
How many paths without a beating heart did you travel along
is not the sort of question one expects to form a song inside
one's head whilst sleeping soundly
until alarm bells ring outside me and I have to set this day
into its proper motion
with that notion walking right beside me.
Everything felt familiar,
I kept telling myself I'm dreaming
and laughing out loud each time
I said it.
I came upon a town clock
and it had stopped
midday or midnight ?
I looked up at the sky and wondered.
Where was I ?
Down the street nothing moved.
The air went dark
I felt chilly
I looked around
No sound
I waited for the dawn
My rough shorthand traces
an articulate heart,
Silver trails snail across
And around this wonder-ment,
Throbbing life,
Marvellous distribution
of life.
Ohhh, you haven't touched your Video or the cassette mama ! the visitor kneels beside the elderly lady. She's looking at the trees...
