white blooms catch my eye
What? Early for the season?
I ask. No reply
nature
A day of meetings
Today was a good day for forward planning.
It’s good when you can have meetings with other people, particularly women, and find that you are on the same page and one idea leads to the next and the next and then before you know it you have a full year planned out with activities and events.
What was good about today is that the meetings were not for personal gain but were plans to share the great outdoors with others, the less fortunate, who might not otherwise have these opportunities.
It’s a good day when you can share what you love with others.
Launch Event
I was invited to the launch event of an exhibition bring the book Lost Words by Jackie Morris and Robert MacFarlane to life at the Sill this week. I’d seen the book and have admired the images, but I hadn’t spent much time with the text.
The premise is that generations of children are growing up not knowing the names of things in nature, or being able to recognise them. That this knowledge has slipped out of existence and this book was created as a way of recapturing the magic, bringing these lost words back to life. Such words and natural living things as bramble, conker and fern.
I had the most enjoyable evening talking to fellow visitors as well as hearing some of the spells within the book being read aloud. It was inspiring so much so that I intended to link into the idea of lost words, and lost worlds as I return this weekend to the Sill to facilitate a storytelling session about the multicultural communities from ether past who lived and worked around Hadrian’s Wall in Northumberland.
Fern
Fern’s first form is furled,
Each frond fast as a fiddle-head.
Reach, roll and unfold follows.
Fern flares.
Now fern is fully fanned.
Robert MacFarlane
Brown Veins
Once purple or pink
a bounty of colour now
gone to brown thin veins
Honesty
Once purple now white
satin to the eye and fine
to the touch of dare
A soothing retreat
Haiku: the sea
Blue blankets ride in
bringing promise of reprieve
if only believe
Light in my path
running along by
the rugby pitch and golf course
I hit a light path
Sleepless in a Seaside Resort ( sort of)
your body aches
as comfort evades you
your mind rummages
around dark recesses
doubling back into wounds
sneaky drafts seep through window panes along with the cries of seagulls
eyes gritty and sore, moisture absent
when will it be morn?
when this charade can be over
for another night?
when you can drag your body
towards the light
your consciousness
compromised and dull?
but it’s the best you can do
after sleepless nights
under salty cold air
Living Wild Studios 