Intermezzo


Sunday Afternoon
December sun turns the landscape silver nitrate: the day like an exposure for a scene: between river and quarry pool where the wall is crumbling. We came here when the wall was covered, unknown under earth and moss. We came here when the earth tumbled, the slate blocks shining, the tree roots, exposed. We came here when the water pushed through stones and through the dark roots, the fingers fumbling.
Monday Morning
White noise in the chimney hollow, tapping rain on window glass, strands of ivy shook loose, soft soot thuds. All the electric is strangled: torches found, candles lit, fire stoked, the fuse box investigated. The storm takes a pause, as though distracted. The lights cough back. No sign of settle in this weather system.
The calendar is close to running out of pages.
Miles and miles we walked this year.
Today I will polish my boots.





Comments

  1. Suze30 December 2013 at 20:47

    That second pic is feeding some part of me.

    Lis, I really like your new profile pic. :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lisa Southard30 December 2013 at 21:23

    The second photo is Mr walking the wall between the still quarry pool and the lively river. It's another world in the woods there. Also I like how the leaves in the top foreground look as big as he is, it's a faery scale! And I really fancied some colour in my profile- I get very lazy with these things but a New Year prompts change :-) x

    ReplyDelete
  3. The Armchair Squid31 December 2013 at 03:34

    I also love that second picture.

    Happy New Year!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Lisa Southard31 December 2013 at 07:28

    I've always preferred odd numbers but 2014 has a good vibe - Happy New Year :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a comment

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here:

Popular posts from this blog

Tides Of March

Image
Monday 1st March 2021, a work day. Lunchtime. I went for a stroll. Seabreeze was calling. Roamed up and down hill past many crowds of daffodils to get to Porthpean, paddled in the waves (breeze lively, onshore). There was warmth cycling through the cool in the air and water. Sound of waves and gulls. Soft sand. Simple, sensational pleasures. On the slower walk back I put hedge herbs in my coat pocket, took them back to flavour my lunch. On this evening's return commute an orange oversized moon lay over the moors, lopsided and egg-like, more reptilian than bird. I surmised a dragon within. Wednesday 3rd March 2021, an at home day. Shaking off a sense of dread. I think it is the general mess of the world; lots of specifics but not any one in particular. Yesterday was restful; a walk, some reading, a firepit evening complete with blaze of shooting star. Stopped to chat, on our walk, which is how we discovered that there was once an albino badger living in the woods. Thinking of this
Read more

Yes, A Winter Welcome

Image
~ Words on beginning the Winter Festivities ~ Monday 30th November 2020 Autumn’s last calendar day. The season puts on a thick mist coat so I picture it flouncing out with flaming leaves at its hem, russet apples tumbling behind. Winter clatters at the door, all cold bones and tense sparkling hope. Last night I had driven home connected to a clear night, moon above, fuel warning light pipping, songs turned loud: it was like old poor times, the good energy of it, the leap of faith. This night I drove home through wails of mist, fuel levels contently full, songs still loud: the good energy of repleteness. My fear of comfort is diminished, I note, and this brings an excitement. Am I ready? Yes. Tuesday 1st December 2020 In bed drinking coffee, having first admired the crazy moon lighting the morning sky silvery bright; the sun behind us was arriving as though poured slowly from a jug. Welcome to winter. This first day is a list of simple pleasures: setting up cold protection in t
Read more

Clearing Time

Image
Space for soul work Monday 9th November 2020 It’s write anything day. Tap out words. Thoughts adrift. In my car when I’m in fine voice, no one knows otherwise. I might be pitch perfect. Doesn’t matter. The important thing is to sing if I want to. Write. Always watching the weather, jumping in the mud. Walk my feet into the sea until my shoulders slip under, limbs fold-unfold, swimming. Write anything. Be. Let the cliche be. Doesn’t matter. What matters? Yes the little things, yes the big picture. Making mistakes YES. Be serious. Be fun. Misuse punctuation in the general flow. Beautiful words that come to me when I’m lacking a pen or a keyboard, that will never be replicated, that were either perfect or illusionary, that do or don’t need to be shared: tumble through it. Look but seek nothing. I’m at work, it’s drizzling. Sky a pale blur, all colours softened. Indoors the light is warm and also soft. I’m tired from the hot flushes that are stalking my nights, from the dog’s odd new ob
Read more