the balm of a beltane eve, midst late dappled sunshine, a meander up the cliffs
conk nuzzled midst apple blossom, wealth of aroma, me and da bumble bee!
as an aside, i love saying the word bumble bee! lolls around the tongue, like a fine golden brandy left oer’long in the cask – bomMmmble bee, bbumble breee
i keep on wanting to break out in bass tuned ‘per rappa pum poms’… omms and apple francophone pommes i guess?
I love the fact that this tree has grown from a casually tossed aside apple core, yesterdays picnic, todays majestic…
none of the ‘sturdy root stock, specially grafted fruit bearing cultivar’ palaver, just nature doing her thing
all abouts the intricate babble of birdsong, flit of gold finch, warble of thrush, the playful jostle of a family of sparrows
all the rest of the hillside is awash with hawthorns, froth blossom just about to burst out, the flower of the may
both the apple and the hawthorn are, of course, members of the Rose family, the rule of the 5 petaled flower, forever sacred to venus
the hawthorn tho is the somewhat spiky, rough and tumble, tousle haired, scraped knees, tom boy cousin… i love the wild, crazy charm of the hawthorn
tomorrow? next week, i shall go forth to gather the flowers for my annual tincture… good for the heart dontcha know!
something in me churlishly wants to disregard the apple, too abundant, too gawdamn obviously pretty
but then you come upon the blessing of her in blossom, blush pink and white flowers, fresh green leaves, the colours a summoning, and also a softening of the heart chakra
amongst the apple blossom we are in the presence of the maiden, enchanted, fall to one knee, with the sweetest of smiles, offer up, be happy
higher up, looking out to sea, a paraglider stitches a line along the edge of the cliffs, blindly feeling out the uprush of thermals
the colours tho remind me that this morning, before a swim, i’d been up here again, watching my first swallow of the year
hurtle appearing from seemingly nowhere, red cap, white flash, the nigh time blue of plumage, his distinctive swoop and weave
the thrill of a gabbling breakneck speed… speaking of nowt but beauty and joy