Running in the slow lane
Shadows dance under thinly leaved branches
Making patterns on her smooth fawn fur
Ripples of light on the fingers of the breeze
A caress of warmth and a flush of cool air wafts across
Her fine body
Tickling
With the lightest of touch
Baby- soft skin
The whir of the grass cutting machines
In the fields
Cause her ears to flex
And sweet smell of the first cut
Scents the air.
She breathes deeply
And takes it all in.
Such a joy to watch her
Day 2 with whippet puppy – Pepper
Our daughter has wanted a whippet for years; our cocker spaniel is 8 – perfect time for a new addition and for me to get to know a new breed. Plus we have never had a puppy – just a line of rescue dogs.
Yesterday was just a joyous day in the garden. The greenhouse is being put up and we shall finish it this week. Lunch alfresco saw us with both dogs at our feet snoozing in warm spring sunshine.
After the Spring we have had – just magical.
Like Socrates,tread I barefoot on the ground
Drink deeply, elixir of the soil
Strengthened by every grain imbibed
Connections rooted deeply from the core
The elemental smell of rain- freed earthy spores that cleanse and heal;
A living substrate made for growth
In simplicity, softly drawn within
Where we, with nature, seemingly at one
Are held,
Protected by the earth and riches found within;
Sustained and energised from to toe to finger tip;
To toil the soil
Anticipation and sortilege spun;
A web of faith
Assured and humbled of wisdom that will flow.
Immersed, alone and freed from other ties
Pure joy it is-
Abandonment to garden hoe.
The moon in May
By flower moon is known
Silently rises above
Queen Anne’s Lace
Ephemeral and statuesque
This golden coin
Effortlessly glides and chases
Oblivion.
Distilled an essence
Elutriated and ready to perfect
A world extruded when the line is drawn
The sky itself will bear no limits
Be still my soul
May peace endure.
Latent sun a bequeathed breath
Enough to sate the soul
To linger under the baleful cloud
To feel the stillness
Calm beheld
As droplets fall,the weight of
Trees
Like dew-drop pearls
From branch and leaves.
Steel spray of moonlight
Sharpened edges
Frame the cloud
Igniting the sky in marbled effusion
Tracing the lines,masking the
Disc of white
A gilded spectre
Manifests then shrinks
Back into stormy darkness.
Window of opportunity- staked and ready is the land
Save for harshness and ferocious storms
Burgeoning growth and every space inside
Is filled;
Potential screams from frame and sill
For that window of opportunity to present;
And so the question phrased is
In or out?
We try a voice of reason:
Month of May,
When riotous colour floods the bank
And nature itself cannot be held
But in my hands
Precarious has it fallen;
One move and all is lost,
Returned to soil
Only to start again,
Amidst ethereal voices born on the winds:
Times are changing.
I lived my childhood
As an adventurer and in imagination - always outside- always on the edge;
Cowboys and Indians
Bows and arrows shot between the red leaves of the old plum tree
Into the street;
Legends of Tarzan played out in daring crossings over fallen trees and the tiny stream in the park
With its lonely woodland which was considered dangerous by some adults;
But as children we stuck together - always in a small gang,
Out all day except for lunch;
We knew the route; we made paths through tall bluebells between
Corrugated iron;
We found nests and wondered as we turned the blue ovals in the moss
We swung from a rope tied high in the trees chasing the dust mottes and dappled sunlight through the leaves;
We made dens and decorated them;
I learnt the names of all the woodland flowers-made notes;
I made a museum and
Collected natural and geological Treasures and discarded rubbish;
Fascinated by the history of the place and its ancient route- I noted everything;
We found pottery and ancient walls;
We found hideouts;
We were spies writing codes
And using ciphers;
We found a gun;
And - an older man
With a mac-
Spied us.
And we ran home.
The police were informed.
We were banned from the woods
So we kicked dirt in the car park
And played football till dark.
Strident in centre field,
Startled a long run it makes
Limbs long and lean
Across the evening field it sprints, A back-lit golden dart;
Partially shielded above the
The boundary ditch
To watch and listen,
Then in another direction,
Over splash of green
Apollo’s arrow spears the sun.
Ruth Partridge