poetry and prayer

In the walled garden by the church, early crocuses are in flower.

[…] Under the trees
a crocus campfire kindles.

Yes, the half-closed flowers remind me of flames. But they also remind me of praying hands, though when they open more fully, it’s more as if the petals were spread wide to receive whatever alms or largess the prayers have prompted.
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more autumn

Autumn comes,
breathing grey mist through city streets;
he stamps in puddles
then laughs with sudden sunshine.

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I’ve been feeling a little washed out for much of this week, so was interested to read on the BBC that there is likely to be a lot of ‘flu around this winter.

As it’s only mid September, I seem to be ahead of the game and hope that means I won’t have to go through this again later in the season.

One sentence in the article particularly caught my eye. (I note it has been corrected since I took the screenshot).

Screenshot from BBC "weekend immunity system"
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sharper focus

It sometimes seems as if my life is getting blurred around the edges as I get older, rather like the gazania flowers in the photo.

I suppose I should be grateful that, unlike the gazanias, I have the option to put things back in focus. Even if I’m not sure I currently have the energy.

on a theme

Although all the images in this post have something in common, I’m not sure that they are, strictly speaking, variations on a theme. That, I think, would imply that the theme had been chosen and the photos taken to illustrate it.

What really happened was that I was looking through the mass of photos I have taken recently trying to find connections: it was a post hoc selection, not premeditated.
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looking up

I’m not sure exactly what variety the flowers in the top picture are, but I am pretty certain they belong to the campanula family.

It’s not the same variety as the ones that grew along the stone wall in the garden of my childhood home, whose flowers were much shallower – their delicate papery petals spread wide like fairy crinolines – but something about the shade of blue betrays their kinship. Those were were probably my favourite flowers; I learned the Latin name and never questioned its suitability.
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again and again

We humans are creatures of habit. We are comforted by familiarity.

We visit the same places, we think the same thoughts, we tell the same stories; and – if I’m anything to go by – we take the same pictures again and again.

poppy Continue reading “again and again”