Birthday bed head
me on the morning of my eighteenth birthday (allegedly a grown up)… and cough thirty-ffing-eight years later, on the morning of my fifty sixth (allegedly a grown up!)… jeeps i must’ve eaten a whole elephants worth of birthday cake down the years!
still wearing a St Christopher (travel, silver for this moon ruled cancerian), same prominent nose, the dearth of eyes… probably an equivalent volume of hair, just distributed slightly differently!
a peculiar sartorial sense endures
just back from an early morning amble up the cliffs, followed by a sea swim, time to rouse daughter from slumbers, croissants for brekkie
figurative art my favourite, always fascinated by the endless beauty of the human form… and my own the body, and soul, the one i know best of all… a blessing, which provokes, for me, amusement and delight
such adventures! several dollops of joy, a soupcon of sorrow… life grooved
any words of wisdom? nope!… what does the motto on this mornings turmeric yogi tea bag say ‘love is an infinite power’, can’t really argue with that
we are woven by community… life buoyed up by the generosity, support and love of our fellows. steppin’ lightly. love xxx
viper’s bugloss! preposterous and ostentatious, a flower after my own heart… and a total bee magnet
you can imagine the conversation:
‘hmmm.. i want purple flowers, with a blush hint of pink’
‘oh EVERYWHERE, as tho all stuck over, be-sequined!… a hippy hairy trunk… and, i want to be irresistible!… and AND give me a name that makes me sound well tough, Rattlesnake Trumpet or something!?’
there’s loads of this plant around here, tho i didn’t know its name till today, better not mutter borage
daughter gave me a wild flower book last year, and sporadically i remember to look them up! super useful
wild flowers have gone Rain Forest crazy at the mo, fecund, their loving the warmth, perpetual rain and sultry mist. Juuune
aw belated fathers day pic
just stumbled across this lovely snap of dad in an ancient trove of flotsam
1974 (ish), on the way to scotland, a tall man, yes, but through the eye of his 9 year old son (me!), a friendly and endlessly impressive giant x
ha, smoke weeds?
courgette flower guzzling season, a soggy soporific afternoon, too lazy nowadays to do more than endlessly post pics of lunch x
megan: There are so many tasty flowers!
ooh what are your faves? and i’ll search them out… i’ve been nibbling on ooh sea kale, honeysuckle, dandelion, gorse and hawthorn a fair bit… tho not all at once! xx
megan: I am eating wild geraniums, nasturtiums, clover, chive flowers, garlic flowers, borage… and more.
of course de edible aliums! why didn’t i think of that, wish i’d planted some chives for the gorgeous flowers now! next year ho hum xx
Korma and Sea Kale … Jai Ganesha
‘There’s a loving in your eyes all the way
If I listen to your lies, would you say
I’m a man (a man) without conviction
I’m a man (a man) who doesn’t know’
all together now
Korma Korma Korma Korma Sea Kale-a-meal-eon!
sigh, i’ve resorted to feeble puns for attention now…
the light in a beech wood, in early summer, one of my favourite things
decanted through leaves… eerie, enchanting, a lucid nuance of green
a day of showers, the gloom of grey clouds, then the brief abrupt hurtle of rain
nowt but patter drops neath the canopy, summoning this moist rummage of smells
a wind that shivers through leaves, the sharp sun… mottled, flicker, butterfly shadows
as with heaney:
‘The riverbed, dried-up, half-full of leaves.
Us, listening to a river in the trees.’
far far in friston forest, on a weekday afternoon, nobody at all
but the tweet and foible of bird song… near, far, high, low… layered, grooved, vertigo of a constantly shifting perspective
a temperate Rain Forest, this blessed land
oh and climbed an ash on the way back (that ash, lol x)
foot braced against one of its tentacles, could feel the subtle strength, the vibrations as the long bough gently writhed in the wind
i’ve been dreaming of ash trees and long barrows the last few weeks (long burgh nearby, above alfriston)
much as it was in the neolithic? huge swathes of trees, the occasional glimpse of a view
stone age, yes, yet always fashioning with wood
much work… the scouring of hides, tending of crops, chopping of trees, chiding of beasts!?… yet also space to dream
there would be summer festivals, gathering of the clans, time to swap, to gossip, flirt, dance, feast
shell fish, nettles, sea weed, deer
ha, mead and magic mushrooms… the pulse of a song summoned from the drum, heartbeat of the land
sitting around the fire, hound at your feet, telling your story, a piece for the whole
across the the circle, caught in the fire glow, the eyes of the one you love
much has changed, and, yet, somehow, nothing at all
prose typically waywardly lush, but a way of putting off household chores!
…. aw thinking of phil, must be a year x