Memory fretting on Memory

As I stood there
Under hawthorn and hazel;
A coppery canopy braided
With sunshine,
I could hear the noise
Of my heart in the wind;
A soft haggling sound
Of memory fretting
On memory.

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A Life worth remembering

Sometimes from my doorstep on a morning
Of drifting pollen grains I can hear the silence
Hushing about the eaves,
Pouring its attention into mountain streamlets.
By mid morning the vast rolls of the sea
Break around the blue cliffs,
Splitting apart and merging into wholeness
Like the wrecking and healing of time.
Sometimes fragmented rhythms chance upon
These knotted flows of sound;
Warnings of incoming gales beneath shafts of sunlight
Demanding step-by-step negotiations.
But such mornings should always be undertaken
With great respect for its own moods.
Even tricky surfaces are holy ground,
Twigs, pebbles, stones and seaweed underfoot,
Touching, scraping, padding the skin
To give us memory, to give us a life
Worth remembering.

There is a sense of oldness in the air

There is a sense of oldness in the air,
As though it has been impregnated
With tenderness, delicacy and wisdom.
Ghostly peaks, partially hidden
By knitted webs of thinning wedding veils,
Worn out by generations of stone cold brides,
Remind us of old newness and peaceful departings.
Spring’s forest school alumni,
Ready to embark on their virgin flight,
Darken the air with insecure strong-born wings.
There is the sound of rain falling into lakes
And souls slipping into sunsets,
As though leaves were attached to their backs.
And mornings to come,
With night-trees feeding on shadows
To part ways with the sun.

Walking down a lonely road

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish time wasn’t walking along,
Seeing faces and places;
Reminders of home.

There is snow on the signposts,
Autumn’s clutter in the guts,
Beaten down tracks of
Asphalt and stone.

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish I wasn’t walking alone,
Seeing white-painted crossings
Faded and gone.

There are untouched skipping stones
In sea-washed harbors,
And crab traps left
To yellow and grow old.

I’m walking down a lonely road
Where possibilities’ shop
Has long since been closed,
Leaving only in its wake
Miles and miles of unclaimed love.

Summer Postcards

Have you ever sailed across the shore along the Archipelago of a white and blue summer country, gliding to a non-existent southern breeze while sails flap lazily in chorus with the persistent cry of fishing seagulls? If not, then you are missing out.

There are always houses snuggled against the shoreline. Little cottages made of wood and painted white or farmer’s red, but always with blue doors. To keep away the witches. Sunbathers and little swimmers wave at you from emerald green lawns or little stone-fixed piers. You will get the feeling of cruising along the rich man’s riviera, but no, people are much too friendly for that.

The ocean stays a constant blue in the low sunshine. A seal or perhaps a miniature dolphin will pop its head up and stare at you curiously. But other than that, it is you and the still blue, sparkling together in the warmth of summer.

Even at night, while you are docked safely to port, the golden sheen will continue to play upon the gilded currents, rocking you to sleep. And nocturnal seabirds will hunt and sing and dive into those golden ripples all night through.

And when you wake from your short, but deep summer night sleep, dawn has already beaten you to it, and is ready to greet you with a spray painted mural of lavender and rose quartz swirling together in a dizzying whisk of pastel hues. All you have to do then is make yourself a cup of strong coffee and drink it all in.

If you are lucky, an islander might invite you to strawberry and cream and a glass of champagne. They are friendly like that, the locals. You just have to give them a smile and a gentle hello. They never intrude on someone’s privacy.

And as you sit there, sipping collector’s champagne in the late afternoon sun, make sure to take a look around. Even animals go away for the summer here, to enjoy the fresh sweet summer grass and watch rainbows and sun showers and make new friends. Just like you. Sit back, relax, and take your time to just be alive, to be with the natural beauty of this quiet summer world and feel content to be just where you are.

Dragonfly Dawn

Yesterday when I was having my morning coffee while watching the sunrise, this beautiful dragonfly came to visit. It perched right on the house wall with the reflection of the rising sun in the rice paddies as a backdrop, so I had to capture this magical moment on camera!

Summer Mornings