poem – Page 79 – don't confuse the narrator

the smallest room in all the world

After rain, sunshine:
tomorrow, there will be
mushrooms for breakfast

all the yellow birds of autumn

A gust of wind tears
yellow birds and russet butterflies
from autumn trees

or, possibly:

A gust of wind
tears all the yellow birds
and russet butterflies of autumn
from their treetop perches

widdershins around the reservoir

reservoir mist — The sun peels mist from the water

moving mountains

After the storm,
the river drops to reveal
new mudbanks;
slowly, the mountains
are coming to us.

(No, there are no mudbanks visible in the photo, which is actually the point at which my local river is dammed to form a reservoir. But hopefully it brightens the page a bit.)

We’re still having intermittent internet and phone outages, and still waiting for them to change the poste at the end of the garden – which is riddled with woodworm and carpenter bee tunnels – and, hopefully, install a new cable at the same time.

This morning, having glimpsed a red squirrel run across the road ahead of me, I was reminded that last time we had problems, the telecom guy blamed las ardillas. He re-strung several lengths of cable before we realised that in fact someone had cut through the cable while trying to tidy up the excess ivy. (However much I complain about the telephone company, I’ll admit they were more than reasonable when they didn’t charge us for that.)
Continue reading “blame the reds”