The cats are twitterpated: lords and ladies
of misrule, they squeal like St Martin’s pigs
in their carnal carnival. Birds’ nests burgeon
in the hedges and, on the early apricot,
a choir of ruby buds swells, ready to burst
into scented song.
More “notes for a poem” than a finished poem, I think. And they were notes taken several years ago.
Continue reading “mardi garden”
People have this unrealistic idea of Spain being semi-desert and sunny the whole time. It isn’t. Where I am, the weather’s turned cold and grey again, and it looks as if the rain will be around for a few days, so I think something is needed to brighten things up.
The only thing in flower in the garden at the moment, other than a few weeds – mostly groundsel and wild marigolds – are violets and crocuses. I took this picture last week.
This was taken from my phone a few days ago. I didn’t expect it to come out well so hadn’t got around to downloading it.
Sadly, it isn’t really clear enough to see how the colours created the illusion of bands of flowers on the mountain.
Rainbow
paints the hillside
heather; blue grass; gorse
she walks through fields of silver.
Winter cracks under her feet
and the earth breathes
gossamer. In her wake,
the path is damp
and green.
Yes, it’s a bit soon to be thinking of spring. But the rain has at least paused for a day or two; yesterday there was a rainbow, and today, after a slight frost, we have tenuous sunshine, so it’s hard not to feel a little more optimistic.
On rainy nights the streets
are twice as bright. Light runs
in rivulets down pavements, streams
along gutters, swirling into storm drains, drips
from balconies and falls, dimpling
puddles.
(This is really only a true observation where there are streets with cars and street lights. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it seems to have been raining constantly for as long as I can remember, and there are no such cheerful lights to be mirrored and multiplied. Country living does, of course, have other compensations, but at the moment my mind is too waterlogged to think of them.)
don't confuse the narrator 