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
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
urbane. (kurt urbane? nevermind) paste up, plenty of ganesha graffiti around town, the elephant schnozzed remover of obstacles… a face fit for the zeitgeist i’ve been missing the urban environment, fun under most circumstances..
praha was often at its best, meandering home across karlov most, suprised at dawn, nights of bleary extravagance
freewheelin’ around town on my bike, custard sunshine, today… the place curiously half empty, lacking herds, hordes and throng… bikes down kensington gardens! the first lockdown had the feel of zombie apocalypse, now after this long winter, more the ennui of enuff cycled in from saltdean along the undercliff, astonishing the vocal range of the ocean … swoosh, gurgle, seethe, plop, splosh… sumptuous sunset light on the way home …… burbling ever on, a curious week of aunts funeral, work, sea swim and howell road zoom reunion… 36 years, crikey!
Finn… Lago di Garda April 2002 aw rummaging through old photos, always loved this one of Finn forlorn, a cold rainy day, on holiday in italy of course, his expression sums up how many of us are feeling through this socially bereft, thin gruel of a winter, well me anyway! yet nostalgia a more curious beast… remember… the sun has set behind the looming hills, sky coaxes, then summons colours from the water, turquoise and tangerine all is serene, a gentle, benign lapping, as a coast dweller i am so used to the qualms of restless water Finn and I are down on the waters edge, showing him how to skim stones owl hoots, rhymes and doggerel, building snow men… and stone skipping… a beauty to share fun things with our kids… reminds us, of course, of those who lovingly first taught us the beach is littered with a myriad of plate smithereens! all blue willow pattern fragments, as tho there had been a frenzied exstasis of crockery smashing! that, or this the site of an old pottery factory? picking some of the larger fragments, their soft heft, the way they sit, cocked, between finger and palm… surface, blue ink tattooed, super smooth, with a frazzle puzzled glaze too beautiful to hurl? but we are mightier, more marvelous, by that which we throw away flat stones. flat lake. perfect. skip… skip… skip… skip… kersplosh mind follows this stone weave, away, gentle, softening to this, the distance of memory
crikey, only a year ago, yet with all the yawn of lockdown glumness and isolation, feels like several lifetimes i look so fresh faced and youthful!… well in contrast to gandhi anyway… better hair too, yeah ping pong ball head… there not be many folk i can say that to! on my way to the giddy throng, the hubbub hullabaloo of sunset in the great shiva fire temple tiruvannamalai, tamil nadu, i first learnt to pronounce the city by practising with tiramisu and timbuctu (too) on this day i had loitered amongst the serenity of the Sri Ramana ashram… then followed the trail barefoot (no shoes holy mountain!) to his meditation cave perched part way up Arunachala… when i got to the temple, no entry in shorts, so had the giggle of buying pyjama troosers in an indian department store, 10 amused staff at my beck and call… masala dosa with basha and some absurdly ornate ornamental goldfish then finally to the inner sanctum… not much tops the thrill of a southern indian temple city! today tho, a jaunt up the cliffs, all is mild and muchly waterlogged… birds starting to sing… they believe in the spring?
imbolc/st bridgets blessings…. the first quiver of spring in keeping with the season, i was trying to take a snap of yellow daffodils against a yellow wall, with a glass of lurid effervescent vitamins in the foreground (why?) yet clearly the springs quiver-riness was too much for me and i must have shooken at an inappropriate moment… the elementals are strong in this one wheel of the seasons is turning, a beautiful thing x
reply to comment:
Cheers, I thought it was quite enchanting… Always appreciate the notion of fortuitous mistakes, digital culture encourages the ‘not perfect, chuck it away’ ethos.. Whereas I, ha, tend to side with the wonky misfits
watched this t’other night, a curious hybrid, manages to be both western and indian, thought the acting was great, delhi feels both glossy and grotty… its funny and brutal
balram makes a choice, yet also, somehow inevitable, there is no choice to be made… enjoyed it more than the book when i read that, much yonks ago
watching telly! ‘spect its not just me, but seem to have been doing an awful lot of that this month… spring? someday!
dreadlock combover! hair follicle elegance at its finest wind battered, drizzle drenched, pedaled to seaford head and moseyed up for a view of the seven sisters, tho much was murk heaney and hughes! its their fault… as i slipped and floundered along through the mud, across the golf course, was busy cursing those restless shades… all that insistence on the elemental, on NATURE.. too much for any impressionable teenager listening to audio books through lockdown, 2 of the bargain bucket cheapies were of them reading their own works… such resonant, profound voices. a joy
‘They seek him here. They seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in Heaven? Or is he in Hell? That damned, elusive, pimpernel.’ this year, as usual, i shall mostly be losing myself into the mystic
