Damsons
in the last of the long golden evenings
we shake the tree,
raining purple
onto falling leaves.
we crouch collecting,
leave powdered white-sweet-mould
for dying-summer-butterflies,
leave stoned drinking holes
for drowsy wasps to souse.
cross-legged by piles
I finger
the slippery sweet,
pinch the pip
squeeze pulped,
bruised flesh
till it bursts,
splits… Read more
Moving Day
On Friday I helped a friend move house. Me and at least 12 other people gave the time and energy that we could. It was hot, so hot. We sweated and heaved, scratched our heads at ratchet traps and worked together to safely lift sofas and beds, chairs and wardrobes in and out.
And I … Read more
Joy
Sadness is a dark ink which pours, spills onto the page but
Joy is harder to write
it flutters in rainbows of diffuse light, moving, it doesn’t easily land, wants to keep on swirling, spiralling like pollen on the river, like mayflies as they bounce on springs of gossamer in the slow summer evenings.
Joy … Read more
You can never be lonely (with a worm)
I remember years ago, I went for a walk with an old friend.
We met somewhere beautiful.
But I don’t remember much because I was so consumed by the story I was telling him. I remember the story, of heart ache, loneliness. The usual. I remember I went on and on.
Occasionally he would point … Read more
#No mow May
May. Already. How is that possible?
The days are so much longer and the birds are joyous.
Today we had sun and rain and there were pretty little orange-tip butterflies on the Lady’s-smock which is growing in the wilder parts of the garden.
Since the spring of the pandemic I have decided to hand over … Read more
The peace of wild things
This afternoon and I have done little but walk and talk
and watch the sparrows flit and flurry,
nothing more than read
Wendell Berry
by the river
wrapped in blankets and a sharp spring evensong,
watching the water wave and whorl.
I have done nothing,
nothing at all.