Yesterday, I sat outside sun-bathing and watched the very first swallows of the season sitting on the phone wires apparently tidying themselves up after their long journey.
Today the wind is howling, and the sight of the the billowing tree tops through the window is enough to make any one feel sea-sick. Perhaps the oak tree in the photo will be pleased to be wrapped up warm in its furry green coat.
After a fairly miserable weekend weather-wise, Monday dawned bright and sunny and positively spring-like. So I took the opportunity to gather some violets for my desk.
(In the photo they are on the book shelf simply because it’s tidier than the desk.)
Continue reading “penny for them”
I’m pretty sure I’ve read that Wordsworth wrote his poems while out walking, and that the rhythm of his strides helped him work out the metre. (Pause here for a link to Lynn Peters’ Why Dorothy Wordsworth is not as famous as her brother.)
I try and walk every day, even if it’s only down to the post office to check the mail box. I walk in the hope that I’ll get ideas to write about; I walk to iron out the pieces I am working on; and I walk for exercise. Yesterday was the first reasonable day for a while when I was free to take time for a longer walk, so I went round the reservoir.
I didn’t find any inspiration for new poems; I did, however, find a whole anthology of old favourites.
Continue reading “anthological exercise”
The world has not turned to black and white. This is a perfectly normal English day in mid May with 100% cloud cover, a bitter wind, and noisy aeroplanes directly overhead.
Continue reading “do not adjust your screen”
Outside open windows
blossom clouds the orchard;
my dustpan is full of pollen.
Alternatively, and more in keeping with the haiku spirit:
through open windows
apple blossom;
yellow dust on the floor
don't confuse the narrator 