diary bits

27
cool blue. cloud. no sun. should get up with the birds. would be good idea. chaffinch this morning heard. despite saying there were less

the plantains grow up in the cowslip meadow changing the sound of walking.

moths appear in a room with no windws open. they batter against a glass door that shuts them from the light. They are all the same. they must have hatched [they are not visible in the morning, maybe they were a haunting]

28
Pa mows the grass, paths rather than lawns, in the distance someone else mows too. the dog snaps at a blue bottle. I can tease him by making fly noises when he has been particularly frustrated by a fly!
He has vacated the sofa so I lie down to sleep

29
Do very little.
Sun finds it's way into to my room. My window faces north but is a bay window. just a hint this evening.
having been so tired i thought i would go to bed early - I have not. people are noisy outside the pub across the way. A wedding makes for a holiday. A long long weekend for some.

this world - a road to nowhere

This world all too much; too hard, too sad. Outside two fragile chirupping blackbirds make their way into life, fumbling in bushes. Every time I hear their sweet sound I remember the sound of the one that was caught by the cat across the road...the same noise but louder more urgent...more shrill; then the parents alarm calls at the cat for some two hours.

I can't deal with myself very well, my anger, my sadness...my guilt at feeling sad when I have food, a roof over my head, parents. There is a feeling of dullness falling, resignation...hard to describe. Accept the futility, the loneliness. But then all the wretchedness in the world, the corruption. Government millionaire ministers that talk of getting people off benefit into jobs that don't exist, being hard on crime whilst women are brought into this country illegally for the sex trade and when they have the courage to go to the police get treated as criminals, illegal immigrants. Some come here so young. What sort of a country, world, do I live in? A country where people still hide that they are gay, where people of a different colour/religion are hated and feared. then there are those that think we are on the brink of a new consciousness, such a wild idea, like apocalyptic theories, I think all part of the human condition and and the desperate struggle with mortality.

Tomorrow I'll try and make something of the day...go looking for bee orchids, if my legs and back allow.
But right now I just feel like waiting with the swifts and when they fly in late July, early August, just stepping into the sea and swimming south south south. Oh the ridiculous state of being too scared to live to scared to die..no maybe not having much will to live, to live with joy. I just get bad tempered and angry with everyone. A close friend says well have you found somewhere to live in Bristol, when I haven't even sorted out if I can go. How would I find somewhere to rent now when I'll not go til the end of September? Do I spend money going to MA shows in July or save it to pay fees? How will I afford a computer? Could I do it without one?

Shall I go and see the sun set? shall I go to bed? Can't have a bath as nothing comes out of the hot water taps and the plumber has not returned in a week. I don't have to be here, but I need my space. My space to feel sad or cross. There is whole bottle of sparkling wine in the fridge... There's some tea in the pot. How perverse I am, sitting in a cold room on a sunny evening - although the clear sky is causing the temperature to drop.

Ah - a sigh for a warm sea to float in, for salt water to hold me to touch me, to feel my edges but feel contained and held.

estuary apple tree

apple blossom, my favourite blossom, perhaps just because it comes out for my birthday! I love the cuppedness of the buds, that remains until they are full stretch. And all the different scents.

These blossoms are from a tree that buds the earliest on the estuary. But even though the earliest blooms have fallen there are still buds.

Now I just wait for the swift/gwennol ddu to arrive.......

light, catching up with spring

as the blackthorn is now fading the hawthorn - may blossom - is about the drape the hedgerows.

each day is a new day

fold up the old day, sleep wake to the new day.

simple...simply said, how about the doing?

a bauble & tinsel

swifts

this morning at 09:32 I heard them then two minutes later saw a pair. Now it rains thickly. the apple blossoms are smelling sweet and the early opened petals fly in the breeze.

may day morning

hawthorn blossom, may blossom...for magical may day morning

cuckoo

milk maid, cuckoo flower, (Our) Lady's smock.

and there are cuckoos here, I just haven't heard one yet

blackthorn

the blackthorn is perhaps a little late - it has been coming out in dribs and drabs though has been at it's most the last week. But not like drifts of snow across the countryside as it has been some years.

2 years ago

winter in spring April 6th

at last we have snow. I had given up hope. I awoke with a migraine, I broke my camera but it snowed. Twice it snowed and thawed in one day.

It is not entirely true to say I feel happy when I am in snow, it is more like I feel complete. It is like that trick of putting two patterned transparencies over each other, they make a myriad of moire patterns then suddenly they sit over the top of each other and they snap into place as one, that is how I feel.

a set of images are here

blue

blue blue sky over blue blue sea. bright green of hawthorn startles against this blue. more blackthorn showing white. turquoise car passes with great creamy white alsatian head out of the sunroof. nose heavily irritated as a woman on the bus sprays some perfumed body product onto herself.

thinking of japan

cherry plum blossom

blossom mania occurs...early cherry plums and now the blackthorn, and away from the wild the ornamental cherries.

solstice walk 2006

A looping long walk last December 21st, along the estuary and around the town.

2 november poems

November I

Curlew calling calling calling
a hunch of egret and oyester catchers
on the full estuary edge.
Big morning moon
hanging high in the west
still drifting north.
Bands of winging starlings
between me and blueing pink clouds.
The flickering ripple full tide
bobbed by buoys, no boats,
meets heaped frosted flotsam leaves.
Curlew calling calling calling
a copper headland stretched
under the slant of sun rise.
A star of ice where a muddy puddle
almost isn’t.

Cold air nose and fingers
I am part of tide and moon.

I hear the calls of curlew, duck, bluetit
they see me
in a world of time place space
on boggy iced grass
I am standing
In life.


November II

I lie in the bath
where many a misery
has been washed off
the low morning sun
crystals through condensation
carnation steam rises
and light flickers on the wall.

Give up the body battle
and let it be.

Full moon has filled the darkness
from dusk to dawn;
nothing deep to sink into
so ride lightly on the brightness
that is surprising in winter.

september, still

Oh how I could continue to wax lyrical about september...

The air is much cooler, even as it is still, one can feel it, is there a word for a breeze that is barely a breeze, the slightest movement of air, because the sun is heating it, so that one can feel it on ones skin, just? And just cool enough to brush through when walking.

Birch leaves scatter everywhere. All the leaves are thinning and allowing flickering light through, less deep shade than in high summer.

There is a strong sense of change, of gathering together, but also for me of wanting to wildly abandon...oh dear....

There is a silence behind the squalls that come over dark dark, then leave a rinsed out sharp sky, sharp air. Heavy rain on the roof last night, I like to stay awake to hear it.

roses in september

roses in september, alongside apples and falling birch leaves, the scents of autumn.

clear sun, dew laden mornings. cobwebs. garden crops. chiff chaff!

september

a septembery day, blustery, cloud and sun. the birch leaves are flying and bringing the beginings of autumnal scents. the light is now very different to summer, longer shadows. a red kite floated over, fast. I would have missed it but that I was hanging the washing up and looking skyward at the right time.

I feel a certain amount of creative energy induced by the changing season after an apparently static august; the cooler air.

below is the light from the giveway sign, I catch it some mornings and this was a rich bright one, last week.

late august morning

one of those september mornings in late August... I shrink into the crystal cradle webs of tiny spiders, as they finger through their labyrinths with ease. a dew beaded beetle sits quietly on the flower, later when a little dried it is seeking the delights inside the flowers along with the bees and vivid blue flies. As I watch a cool damp footed bee lands on my finger. I fall into the blue sky and laugh til my body aches.