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There are few things more glorious than the feeling of being in an oak wood on the cusp of it coming into leaf.
these trees have belonged in my meditations most mornings recently
Oak, old dodderer, lop-limbed, engrained in gnarl, but now the moment of unfurling of fresh leaf flourish
almost ripped asunder by this wyrd meld… ancient, yet erupting in buoyant exuberance… soul alchemy
aw i’ve missed the oak groves of surrrey (ha, people mbe not so much), round here what trees there are, tend to be beeches, at home on the chalk uplands
frugal fagus, a delight in their own right, yet not much grows beneath the dark shaded canopy of a cathedral of beeches
oaks tend to be more generous, sprawling haphazard euphorias of life!
ashtead common is dotted with old old oaks, most of them are ooh 400 years, for the first few centuries they were pollarded (top branches lopped off) so grew portly stout, then immense
since then, with peaceful neglect, huge limbs have grown up… occasionally these collapse from their own preposterous weight, but the oak, harrumphs, just gets on with it, genteel, beautiful dereliction
others, half burnt, in a fire, throw jagged nightmare scare shapes
a mix of woodland and also more open bracken savanna, guess the ruminants keep the young trees in check? pleasantly mixed and diverse
I suprised a Red Deer in a woodland copse, up close, a substantial beast, it startled, rose from its haunches, then, bounding over branches, gallumphed away… proper medieval! tantaloo! soho!
tho not sure in truth which of us was the more suprised?
a strong, benign, warm gold, masculine energy… the deep grooved bark of quercus, bewhiskered oaks, trees which rumble with thunder (oaks are the species most likely struck by lightning)
aw the colours of the new leaves, vibrant lime, yet tinged with oak apple brown, tannin, there to be seen, a unique harmonious blend of hues
ha, enough of my half ruminated on woodland idyll!
[traditional] our lady of the wood, the goddess, she glides, forever out of reach, assembled, in the soul, from this collage of fleeting sensation… a feeling, soft feathered touch, a glimpse of hair, green mantle glides past, wood anemones flower beneath her feet. blessings

sea fret

audio of text… messed up arpeggio typical

ooh like the lucked out composition of this snap, nowt of import!
a wraith like sea fret which serpent sways over the land, ocean belch, light which candy floss clings… to everything, incandescence
bird song all trill and arpeggio… sound as tho a bathe in soup, passive, absorbent… in contrast to gimlet eyes which rove, swivel, focus

sea kale

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‘bruise mottled mongst the purple sprouting broccoli’… snow day… sea dip … in bocca al lupo!
after, nestled within the fresh lurid-delic fronds of fractal sea kale
the hillside and the hedgerows, flower splattered white… a wild cavort of blackthorn blossom
the sea, slate grey with a metallic ooze and sheen
spring leaves me breathless, don’t blink! a slow motion swallow dive through majesty.
on grey, cold rain days you can feel it stronger, as tho the cloak of green is wrapped even closer, everything a shimmer with this life patina, smells somehow swollen, colour enchanted by contrast
yesterday daughter and i invented a new circular walk around slaugham (‘low muddy place’), whilst searching for the near legendary source of the ouse …the river that, lazily, eventually, flows past my front door
ancient church, mill pond, moated ruins… nut hatch, clown faced gold finch, periwinkles galore, goose, goat willow
ha, mbe spring be: beep beep, huzzah! a fiat draped in the italian colours, driven at top speed around and around the fountain, italia 90, ecstatic cacophony of honking!

cold as brassica monkeys?

colours? yes! purple and green are a beautiful combination x

wood anemones

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wood anemones, a carpet of them, spread throughout the wild wood
white flowers, tumbled down, fallen stars, each set to shiver beneath the gentle breeze
Sunday, i was out around sunset, the lilac hour, hurtle slap dash along the cuckoo trail on my bike, custard sunshine
the cuckoo trail is an old disused Rail Line, turned to a carefree (car free!) bike trail… hs2 we’re looking at youuu!
bluebells are, of course, the justly lauded, pinnacle of the spring…
yet wood anemones, a month earlier, are harbingers of wonder, daubed about with yellow clumps, posies of primroses, they flower just as the hornbeams and beeches quiver to leaf
it feels like the folk of the fae are nearby… apparently anemones are a sure sign of ancient woodland, as they spread at the laggardly, haste free, slug pace of six feet per hundred years!
the wild woods are the oldest beings in Britain, intricate, woven across the centuries, sacred… you can’t churn them up and replace with a sterile, orderly phalanx of conifers, bollox to that
anemone, wind flower, from the Greek god of gales, associated also with the gush splash of Aphrodite’s tears over the corpse of Adonis (gotta love wikipedia!)
conjure with the notion of sea anemones? bristled, fronds flung out, nibble feeding from the ocean current
cooking dinner, i practice my wood anemone shiver dance ™, clap trap of ambient rave from the radio… this the predictable lament… woe, woe, tis a long long time since i have been out dancing!
aw i miss the hot fug of bodies deep beneath the groove… ha, yes, i miss the applause! oh how i miss the applause

Flaps: 👏👏👏 There’go. Proves I read til the end too x

Ha! I’m impressed (and somewhat shocked) Such gruel and stamina! I relish and enjoy my bountiful bilge as I compose it, but tend to forget what I’ve said straight after! Xx

Rhonna: You are my only poetic pal,lovely! I saw just a photo on your f b page the other day , and I thought….where’s the prose?! Now you’re back to normal! 🙃🙃

ha! apols to disappoint! was probs just dumbstruck or ‘hey ho’ work busy… seldom silent for long (malheuresement!).. hope all good with family out west? … we should deffo have a cave-ie reunion this summer! i’m often out devon way at my sisters xx

another attempt, struggling a bit with recording today!


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miniscule, from but a mote, a forest of tomătoes!
first of this years seedlings… probably a smidgin late, but plenty of time!
season for the sowing of seeds
once i am swimming midst a lake, a glut of pomodoro, i will have forgotton the curious intricacy of process
‘create the right conditions’… here last years saved seeds, soil, water, light, warmth… simple serene
except that neglects the haphazard nature of the whole palaver…
the seedlings are up by my work computer in the loft, so i watch them eagerly whilst i work… benthams panopticon?
at first absolutely, bloody bolloxy, absolutely nothing happens! for days on end… is that a speck of an iota of jissom?
its like heisenbergs uncertainty principle, the ferocity of of my glower, seems to inhibit their growth?
so i have taken to pretending to be half interested in something else, focussing on the serene production of alpha waves in my brain
suddenly turning around, to catch them out … its like racing slime moulds
or when on vipassana, at sunset, when i could literally see the universe, every atom, breathing in and out of being… swayambhunath… the self arisen
oops i’m bored with my own words, even as i write them, sense slides away from anything i intended to say, which, i guess, is part of the fun?…
as ever i’ve been listening to several audio books at once, this week its ursula k le guin, john o’donohue and paddy leigh fermor… such fascinating writers! the richness of thought… a true blessing
also, quite a few lockdown babes being born this spring. fabulous!

who you calling ‘three eyes’…

its a super video… had forgotten how good it was


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early morning. spring. sunshine. rattling along on my bike, all lopsided enthusiasm and exorbitant pant.
for me, the epitome of freedom
today for a sea swim (well more but a genteel bob in the briney)… a broad smudge of endorphins… shriek, numb, bristle
yesterday flummoxed up the cliffs, hazel catkins, lichen, the mesmeric solemn chant of wood pigeons
of course, slumber back into this yoke, of thought, responsibilities
yet, world is always, unspoken, on the cusp of something.

Hanna: You’re a true poet, enchanting it all

thanks lovely!
i enjoy jotting them down, and usually reading them back! in some moods they just flow, they usually feel beautiful, but seldom important
probs how it is with you and music?!
been meaning to reply for ages, a lull in the busy so will do in a day or so! xxx

Rhonna: You’re brave(swimming in the sea at this time of year…well,..any time of year!), and surviving! I thought about joining my pals for wild water swimming, but my body is protesting at even the thought of it!

do it! it’s not even that cold
tho truth be told i am protected by plumpness… so my advice is ‘eat more pies’ vegan ones pref, oh and listen to manu chao (no reason, just becoz)
most of the cold is over super quickly its just the far flung fingers and toes that really feel it
oh and blustery days are rubbish, cut to shreds by wind chill on emerging
i always think, oh i should listen to wim hoff or something (a cranked up dutch version of brian blessed) or get a dry robe… but totally never bother
old school, wooly swimming togs all you need! xx


equinox blessings… hail the harmonious equipoise of the sun disk (here represented by peanut butter on oat cake)
a zombie stumble out of winter, grateful for the balance of light and darkness, the glorious exuberance of spring. gosh gush x

bleaggh peanut butter on oat cake, a frugal, cupboards are bare, breakfast… possibly the driest substance known to man?
more desiccated than the surface of mars… which is supposedly reasonably soggy!

cheerfully bored, hence the likelihood of selfies… the tulips were a mothers day present for mum, but she sent them back with me, due to a glut from the other siblings

oh no ‘november rain’, guns and roses, has just come up on random shuffle. bilge! time to get up and out into the day
…it is in fairness a very very long playlist and i sporadically add a rubbish song, just because i can


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tree of stars, tree of kisses, woven from bird song and delight
the humble blackthorn, its majestic explosion, through blossom, into glory
prunus, yes, hmm prunus what? latin genus neglected, for me it shall be: prunus flagrante!
five petalled, eternal symbol of venus aphrodite
the waft of almond and cyanide, underscored by the aroma of Ransoms from the island… fetid, fruity
a dangle-age of catkins, the riverbank is home to alder, hazel, willow
alders still stuck over with last years cones, chameleon prismatic tree, observed from most directions, it is sparrow brown, cheerful, yet something of the dowd
yet, walk close spun around, suddenly it catches the light – pouts purple… a soul which blinks indigo
by the river all is the fresh foam, bubbles, the drift of maya
hazel, quicksilver skittish, ever bright shining
whilst willow, the first in the race to leaf, grass snake medusa green
yes, but poke a willow wand somewhere in the earth, it will leap to leaf, such the regenerative potency
spring is a current, flowing, flowing through the land
and i? why, whilst washing up, mired in thought, my litany of sorrows, the ledgers of resentment, strictly tallied
and yet my body, a swift jitterbug staccato, gyrate, pirouette then body pop!… caught up by cadence and foible… the river of spring flows even here
if you could know music, you would whistle an unheralded tune…
but i glory more in dance … 3 times, i repeat the physical refrain… a spell in sinew, a postulation… this, the importance of acting out
a half smile, my mind dwells momentarily on it, as though following through a chess strategy ‘hoppety knight jostles reluctant bishop?’
then, well, shake it off… shake it off baby!
hunched over desk, mind quagmired in code
yet somewhere, i am walking, this pilgrim stride, onwards, onwards to avalon
brow turned upwards to the light
eyes of stars, eyes of kisses, woven from bird song and delight
it is spring

another, probably better, attempt at reading it!