immense skies this morning, firstly a full arch of Rainbow, fit for gawp, majestic, blazoned across the heavens, doubled up about around its feet, shimmer gauze of colour
the Rainbow forever emblematic of hope (memories of that endless day, high above vilcabamba)
swag bellied clouds, saunter across the horizon, a rain burdened gloat, dark shaded (4b!) undercarriage… tangible, seething blackness
but then to the west a clearing… huge, wan… full moon about to set, smoke wreathed, an unexpectedly masculine aspect, under aries
whilst at the other side of libran sky scales, the queasy leer of sun, picking out the steeple of the church at bishopstone, the cliffs behind, the white cap of a wave
crows at seaford head, specks of black, flung up like ash… riders on the storm
curious some days a cycle ride is all brute, rhythmic, anchored in muscle and bone, other days it is the piffle pitter patter of thought that predominates
somedays it is in song, but today all is expansive… attention wrenched above
world a collage of sensations within the mind
home to find i’d missed most of it! cloud burst puddles, lakes, the sky lolling about, peek-a-boo, there, in reflection
………….
asunder… well thats what i’m calling my pic, ha, somewhat annoying really, its the words i enjoy, natch, just wanted to take a snap to illustrate the storm sky, but hey ho flags, so weighted and pointlessly freighted with symbolism!
if it was shredded, on a battlefield, surrounded by artfully strewn bodies, glowing in the pompous golden light, the false Romanticism of a high victorian empire painting, why, it would symbolise courage… fraud, jingoistic nonsense
… but here, with all the current political fallout of patriotism, for me its about pride, and a pathetic self delusion… tumpedty tum!
oh and before i plough on with work, sure nobodies read this far below the line… ever the blather… heres a quote from hobans ‘sea thing child’ not the quote i was looking for, but such a wonderful tale, everyone, not just kids should read! x
“The wind was howling, the sea was wild, and the night was black when the storm flung the sea-thing child up on the beach. In the morning the sky was fresh and clean, the beach was littered with seaweed, and there he lay–a little black heap of scales and feathers, all alone. All alone he was, and behind him the ocean roared and shook its fist. He lay there, howling not very loud, Ow, ow, ow! Ai-ee!” while the foam washed over him and went hissing away. He was too little to swim very well and he hadn’t learned to fly yet. He was nothing but a little draggled heap of fright.
After a while, when the tide went out and the day grew warm, he crawled up on the beach, leaving a wide and messy track behind him in the smooth sand. He crawled up among the big old seaweed-bearded rocks by a tide-pool, and he went to sleep, cheeping softly to himself.”
