the woods reek of rot, of fungus, to speak of solemn loss autumn is afoot, not quite, but certainly tickling at the toes i am nimble amongst the cautious quiet of the morning having rummaged deep in the wardrobe for todays costume, vintage 2013! nut season… conkers with their whorled grain and rich lustrous mahoganny sheen hazlenuts startled, fresh from the preposterous, baroque lace of their casing yada yada! ….. grappled with flu, some work, equinox boogie and sacred stroll, lots of hanging out with friends and family! been pleasant snaps from this morning and a jaunt to batemans with daughter x
bless the infinite tumult crescendo of late may! a world burst higgeldy piggeldy with flowers bird song, days stretched out by endless light the air perfumed by liacs, roses and elderflowers kirtan, evenings of comedy, dancing at caravanersai the mighty elm of preston park dunk in the crisp, electric blue of the ocean a handful of words scattered carelessly the soft languor of twilight, expansive, realm of staggering rapture, flow from above bask in this enchantment, today, the euphoria of everywhere! ……… pics, mostly, credit to mara
it’s me, me,me and me again!… yes, i know, i tried diluting with flowers… but it’s impossible to choose a single snap, when the colours are just so blooming marvelous! x
impossible bluebells… a hue of blue, twixt dulcet lilac and strident sapphire by the billion, enchantment and harmony beneath green woodland canopy etc etc…. ha, Love em!
woodland dance with lovely folk and headphones on sunday… bluebells a bit reluctant, on account of this chill sog spring… wood anemones tho… and the yellow ones i always call celandines (just googled, they are!!) fab to feel squelch mud twixt toes… and hug a few majestic oaks the woods are flourishing… hope to get there again tout suite!
… and loft jungle begun
megan: I have a big bedroom jungle at the moment!
Ooh good stuff… im a little late, its been a cold damp spring, and a little unimaginative… but anything and everything is glorious! Xx
Wild Garlic Pesto! this mornings culinary experiment in potions… one batch with nettles, one without. oooomph in a jar! no vampires will be snogging me… well at least not this morning i love the virulent, almost Radioactive, fairy washing up liquid absinthe GREEN of Ransoms these gathered whilst up at mums yesterday… of course i had no bag, so fistful bushels of green coddled in my arms, a cloud of pong, as i meander stride along the willow and alder clogged banks of the River Mole… manic, deranged grin for all the surrey families… menace with foliage. Wild Garlic Pesto and Porridge! always conjures pleasant memories of our mighty cycle ride Lands End to John O’ Groats… how can that be 8 years ago now! mutters, must go on more adventures!… conveniently neglecting to remember i’m not long back from the Himalaya
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a pleasantly erratic week, a few days off, so up to London to visit friends… out on a bike, pedaling along canals, past monuments, down residential back streets, out to the marsh lands of the north east (crested grebes!) every park the brimful hurrah of blossoms… so many cycle routes, nowadays, London on a bike is a joy back in sussex… first sea swim since my return, fff-ing freezing…. pottering with seedlings in the garden… trips to the tip… singing… ginormous portions of veggie lasagna with daughter the usual cheerful sprawl of spring life
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god is risen. scoff chocolate eggs… sheltering from the rain under the tree in the garden… birdsong is all trill, hoot and chirrup out in the woods the goddess runs amok, profound and fecund…. ah april! our splurge extravaganza in green
Stinging Nettle Baba Ganoush! well, in truth a hummus hybrid, roast aubergine, plumped out with chick peas… olive oil, lemon, garlic and seasoning ‘Baboushka ya yay ya yay ye’… the essential ingredient, early 80’s Kate Bush, then dance, with exaggerated panache, wielding hand blender, around the kitchen… a slightly less skimpy outfit as a drab, cold rainy day here… such a revolting country. tho it makes me happy to live in a world where Baba Ganoush is a word!, such a delight to utter
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surprisingly tasty dish, tho beware of the sedative nettle effect, i promptly fell asleep on the bed in the loft, sleeping beauty slumbers first nettle harvest of the year… my ankle recovered enough for a slow jaunt up the cliffs tingle throb, fingers fizz from a nettle sting… a fuzzy sensation that convention labels as painful… but is it? bird song the soggy lament for this somber spring… the hillside still clad in its winter garb, branches of purple burgundy mingled with lichen green… the occasional canary custard yellow daub of gorse look closely, the buckthorn sprays, tight clenched buds, about to kick off! next week a seethe froth of white, not yet… not quite yet mud, mud galore, ooze slurp that keeps the score, patterned from each passing footfall channeling a soupcon of Jack Nicholson in the Shining for the snap too! anyway, back to tonights movie… The Yin Yang Master… a cheerful romp, loving the kung fu racoons!
when in doubt, life at a crossroads, always helpful to ask myself ‘what would kate bush do?’… cheerfully eccentric results x
milarepa, great buddhist yogi and saint, whilst meditating in his himalayan cave ate only nettle soup and promptly turned green
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the vicissitudes of water
down by the river Mole contemplating the reflection of trees, on the opposite bank, in the waters of the river below a mirrored green prolifferation of foilage apart from the occasional pock mark and wind ripple, the reflection is serene, calm and still… and yet, peering beneath the surface, the water races downstream hurtle and intent something astonishing, how can motion summon such stillness? like the chime, the clear gracious note from a singing bowl, this grasps me emotionally, buoyed up, then pulled slightly apart, gently rent much in the way a tree, its roots rummaging down into the earth mother below, yet branches and leaves reach to the light above, tension and stretch river of flow and stillness, realm of insight and reverie in truth but a variant on the notion ‘we can never bathe in the same river twice’, whats in the noggin, but stepped down from the lofty impregnable, turret of thought emotions, held in the body, modulated, softened through the blessings of water
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later, at the mill race, after the water has come over the drop, rebound, it surges back upwards from the depths a marbled ooze like the clouds of some gas giant planet, all mottled greens and blues 4 separate pools, between them a linked chase of bubbles, a pattern that breaks then reforms again in an identical manner a holding pattern, a frequency resonance? sense of seethe something about water welling up from below, primordial, the goddesses of springs like Sulis Minerva at Bath, each is unique we have always come to speak with, praise and parley, make offerings to, the goddess of a particular place this intimate knowledge of the divine
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i always think of dad on this stretch of the Mole, as when up visiting, just before he died, I walked here all the time, it would have been his birthday today the blue flash of the insignia of a kingfisher, this miracle irridescence… a gasp, a fleeting dazzle, yes, and he is gone ‘Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song’ the river meanders through the Eliots Wasteland dad was cremated a mile downstream, the hospice where he died 5 miles further, so much of my childhood pottering along the mole canoeing with Rich P on boxing day, in wet suits, capsizing somewhere near the weir floating down the river, cold, laughing
when shamanic journeying, in my imagination I often come to this archetypal british river, familiar, comforting alder and willow, streams of slime green water weed, dragon flies, swans and kingfishers a golden rainbow light of vision
Lammas/Harvest blessings… right on cue the first tom to ruddy ripeness… tho this one seemingly so huge that it has, after einstein, warped the fabric of both time and space must be such a bulge full world seeing thru the eyes of a fish? apols for another veg snap… guess august is always fruit and festies yield of a different type… daughter has been moving out of her student house, a glut of clobber! where does it all come from? the trusty estate car fit to burst guess that is what being a parent to kids in their twenties is often about… i can see my dad patiently and good humouredly helping me move for the umpteenth time… lugging another lucky dip box: wizard cape, curios, futile gee gaws and a hoard of books. thanks dad! life in all its rhythms and cycles
Sarah: Oooh that’s goodMine completely failed this year no tomatoes
oh thats a shame… for me, most years, the only thing that gives a decent harvest… slugs and snails don’t seem even remotely keen on them! xx
Sarah: only thing I’ve managed so far this year is radish’s!Think it was v wet , then v hot, now v wet !
Snozzcumber! that GREW in the garden!! probs shouldn’t be quite so suprised as i planted it… but miracle of a slug dodger i’ve named this one wilson… wilson pick-itt Update alas poor wilson is no more…. sunday morning yoga followed by courgette and sunshine… a great start to the day
couldn’t wait till the midnight hour tho… too peckish
Sigh … Since festie I have clearly eschewed the use of clothes… So unspiritual and a symbol of capitalist oppression… Sky clad in.B&Q
no tomatoes 
