nature – Page 27 – don't confuse the narrator

feather brained

The village is running an ornithological photography competition.

mantis close-up of head and antennae. Probably Empusa pennata adult male

Sadly, although many birds visit the garden – blackbirds, hoopoes, azure-tailed magpies, jays, warblers, black caps, treecreepers… – not to mention the herons down by the river and the hawks and eagles who share our airspace, they all have a nasty habit of flying away before I can get my camera out, let alone focus it.

So unless I build a hide in the greenhouse and stalk what I think must be a pair of black redstarts who are nesting there, or set up the step ladder on the verandah and try and peer into the swallows’ neat adobe home, neither of which seem to be recommended courses of action, I don’t think I’ll be entering the competition.

I have, however, had a little more luck taking pictures of this marvellous creature with his spectacular feathered antennae. (Go on: click the photo and check him out close up!)
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surprised by scarlet

Perhaps size matters. Scale certainly does.

Without further information, is one of the flowers shown really any more spectacular than the other?
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light moments

white lilac — Morning lilacs loom
as bright as lightbulbs.

ivy leaves — Evening ivy drips
with sunlight

wild lupins — A lupin wildfire ravages the neighbour's field

there’s a bug

When I walked across the neighbour’s field the other day, it was almost waist-deep in spring flowers: poppies, wild lupins, hawkweed, oxeye daisies, little purple vetches… The brightest of all were these golden blooms which were glorious from a distance, but not so nice up close as nearly every one harboured some kind of bug-eyed monster.

(Incidentally, I’m beginning to think I should change the blog tag-line to “Mostly first person poetry, prose, pedantry and plant pictures.”)

writing it slow

Years ago, I wrote a long and rambling free verse poem that started “My mother makes sloe gin”. It was a runner up in a poetry competition, but despite the minor success, I was aware that it was rather flabby; I think I’ve been trying to force it into some kind of form for near on a decade.

That said, I had completely forgotten this version, which I think must have been written some time last year for a sonnet competition and abandoned when it wouldn’t conform to the formal constraints. Since the sloe trees are in full bloom this weekend, it seems a good time to post it:
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