Friday, 30 December 2016


Starting at dawn here are three miserable images from the kitchen door, well, the first one is not so bad.

To move on to the garden where shapes are the thing - like this spreading cherry tree silhouette. 

There's a dead rat under the Magnolia stellata - a very long dead rat - shovel out and shift somewhere away from the house.
So how are we to come to terms with poseurs at the helm in both USA and Russia. There they are ranting away at one another and increasing nuclear arsenals and world instability when they should be getting together to engender world peace and saving the natural world.
Said my bit for the nil effect it will have.

Move on - it is Christmas, it is dark and gloomy outside albeit mild - 10C. Inside it is coloured lights, too much food (that is both inside the house and inside me), Mr Claus has been, the sherry and mince pie have been consumed (have, has?) and the carrot shows Rudolph's teeth marks. The presents are clustered under the tree, the grandchildren have opened their stockings. (They were told that they could wake etc when it was light enough to see the pond. Unfortunately with the ambient light in the sky this meant our grandson could see the pond at 3 am!)

And suddenly it is all over, all gone, the house quiet as a church woodlouse. R gave me a gardening book with lots of labour intensive ideas :-( .

This is not of now but an old photo I discovered - and not used before. I thought it would cheer us up in days of dreary winter.

We woke this morning (Tuesday) to skeins of geese flying east from the Duddon to Morecambe Bay, their cries always seem to call us to the window to watch.
Talking of looking, DNA is a funny thing - looking in the mirror this morning I was surprised to recognise the lower half of my face as that of my Great Grandfather at the same age!

So, after the gales, it is back to pick-up-sticks time again in the garden - ash trees are dreadful shedders of dead twigs.

Wednesday and a still, cold morning, woken before 6 by a parliament of tawny owls in the ash trees. Later the dawn was greeted by a mistle thrush - a harbinger of the new year to come.

Went for a walk across the River Leven at Greenodd and round by Mearness Farm (where they were shooting pigeons and pheasants). Coming back along the old disused railway the gorse was in full flower. 
(cyssan - O.E. - a kiss)

Gold gorse,
the kiss thorn,
with soft keels
and knives drawn,
spikes doused
in flaxen fire,
branches bound  
with barbed wire,

Gold gorse,
the wild whin,
one flower
and kissing’s in
but no bloom,
kissing’s out
and love drowns -
a kiss drought -

but kiss of life,
kiss of death,
saw, saying,
Kiss the rod?
Scourge the punner?
Kiss the daughter
of the gunner?

Gold gorse,
the crackling shrub
with brittle pods
and bodkin scrub,
with linnet nests
of woven grass
wrapped in shards
of broken glass.

Gold gorse -
paper of pins,
that’s the way
it all begins,
that’s the way
to love and bliss,
one flower -
one kiss.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you and a Happy Healthy 2017 to you and yours.