Listen.
Trees have
the whole story.
They
balance their
roots and canopy
So
every fibre
is provided for;
a
solid base
nourishes every thing.
I’m
going to
copy the trees.
I’m
going to
dig in deeper,
look
after my
foundations, to grow
tall
and wide
and bloom resplendent.
After Anne Carson @carsonbot
The misty fret rolls
in from the North Sea
covering the bay
like a shroud.
There is no silence
when everything changes.
Grief strips the skin
from your body and leaves you raw.
Down along the shoreline
terns are turning and turning.
A question coaxed from your throat,
And this is how we love ourselves?
Onwards. There is so much beauty
in the world which you fail
to notice on a frenzy.
But if you allowed
each breath to be a prayer
you will enter the museum
of God and already
be inside of your body.
a spongy carpet;
clusters of green stars
holding water
storing carbon
amongst cotton grass
big rosemary and cranberry.
Curlew, Steng Moss Bog
peatland upland graasland.
blue stockinged long long legs
wading curved bill down.
I miss the air
against my skin
flicking hair impressions.
before they breed
the male bubbles a call
high pitched across the greyish mist.
threatened they skim
mudflats and dig for shrimp.
this closeness to nature
of cream of buff
of feather is like love
being ripped out
from the roots and fashioned
to fit the narrow folds of life,
yet still being golden and wild.
1. My DryRobe – This is a must have for when I’m going on a sea visit. I just slip my cossie on underneath and I’m out the door. Sometimes if the sea is far out, I’ll wear this robe right up to the shoreline, snuggled into the furry lining, soaking up the last few ounces of warmth before I throw it off and dive into the cold North Sea. And then I know it’s waiting for me when I come out, to soak up the wet and keep off the wind and rain and get me all warmed up. This was a gift to me from me and it just keeps giving. I love my DryRobe hugs.
2. My footed mug. – It was a special red, hand planted one with birds from Anthropologie but I broke it the other day. I was mighty upset. Making do with this little beauty from Tesco’s for now. But hot coffee on repeat. Just the ritual of making it, popping the kettle, rinsing out the cafeteria and putting in two scoops of decaf coffee and pouring the water on and allowing it to brew. The smell in the kitchen, the rising steam. Small simple pleasures.
3. My turquoise plush blanket. – When I left my last teaching job they brought me a gift voucher for Debenhams as a goodbye gift. I took it, I think £30, and bought this comfort blanket as it was a luxury item and I felt I’d just gone through a few months of hell teaching full-time and deserved a little treat in my life. This blanket is super cosy and has been my hygge go to ever since then.
4. Books and more books. – Growing up I used to hoard books. I used to buy them thinking by just having them in my possession I would be intelligent and knowledgable. I now know I have to read the books to gain their insight and message. And this is what I love to do. Anywhere really. Sitting room, bedroom, the bath is a favourite. And I love my physical books but hells bells if I’m going somewhere and packing is tight, then Kindle books will do for me. I just get lost in books, and inspired and cheered up.
5. Paper and pens – Yes I like my fancy journals and fountain pens. But when it comes down to it, just give me any scrap of paper and a pencil and I’m happy. I can then create. Lists are my go to in times of trouble or doubt. If I can brain dump whatever I’m carrying around in my head and body onto that paper, I feel better in the process. I can get things organised, I can let down my load and walk away feeling lighter, calmer and happier.
What is your Bliss List for April? Give me 5 items or more. just follow your bliss and see what you come up with. What makes you happy? What makes you glow from the inside out?
Sycamore, sycamore.
Say your name our loud.
Sycamore, sycamore.
A whisper plays
upon the wind.
A spell to conjure
you to life before me.
Between Milecastle 13 and Crag Lough,
at the end of a cliff, on an outcrop of Whin Sill
sandwiched between the Roman Wall,
Sycamore, Sycamore
I come to you.
Once, one of many,
you stand alone
in your splendour.
I come carrying
Hollywood images
of bows and arrows
and thieves. Fake.
Sycamore, sycamore.
I touch your truck.
Reddy-grey fissured bark
and white tender lichen.
I stretch my neck back
to look up and up
onto your foliage.
Magnificent.
Every shade of green
spreads wide.
Shining out from your
everlasting soul.
Sycamore. Sycamore.
We’ve started running as a family.
Me and my husband and our 9 year old daughter.
I started running about 8 years ago after the birth of said daughter as a means of getting rid of my pregnancy weight gain. Since then I went on to run a lot of 5ks, two 10ks, two half-marathons and three marathons. My last marathon was the London one in 2014. And it became my personal best time.
After this, I ran for the sheer fun of it but I soon fell out of love with running for one reason or another. I started training for my Great North Run in September this year once I got the okay back from the doctors about my back in January. But it’s been hit and miss.
Not with the lockdown, I’m craving the outdoors more than ever and running, putting some distance between me and home, is something I can drop into. So when my husband said he wanted to start running again I asked if he wanted company. And he was going to use our daughter as an excuse, with the schools being closed, she’s with us 24/7. But I wasn’t having it.
We started with NHS couch to 5K podcast. It’s what I used all those many year ago when I started running for the first time and it’s what I use every time I want to get back into running and build up my time and distance in a manageable way.
So it’s early days running with my peeps. But I’m enjoying it. And even if the 9 year old, Miss Ella, is complaining and feeling the pain at the moment, I think give it a few more weeks and she’ll be loving it. I know that’s how it kicks in for me.
While the lockdown has been going on, I’ve been leaning into my creativity. One resource which has been helping me with reading and writing is the Social Distancing Writing Retreat hosted by Amanda P Moore.
Each day, there are four parts to each prompt. First there’s a poem to read followed by an essay on craft. Bearing these two in mind, there’s a writing prompt followed by an outlet, a place to publish your creations recommended.
I’m behind in the prompts but I’ve been finding this retreat a rich oasis of inspiration for my writing.
Here is a piece, I’ve redrafted today after following the readings for Day 6.
My Sister, My Wound after Ross Gay
No matter the mauling.
No matter the removal of face awaits.
There is no coming back
from coming to you.
My body betrays me
offering myself just like that.
With arms furred with pollen
like bright things at your feet;
marigold, opal, purple kale.
Biting my tougue, smile open
singing my insides our like an angel,
for you, to you.
I place my head into your mouth
knowing I’ll lose my head,
just like the sky biting down
into my torn flesh.
“ I think deep down we know that our creativity is not just for us. The creative power flows through us and it’s not meant to stop there. We need to keep the faucets open and allow the gift of creativity to circulate, so that it can touch other people. So it can grow beyond our own limited reach. “ Anna Lovind, The Creative Doer
“ I will stand up for myself and voice my opinions with confidence.”
Living Wild Studios 