Jurassic Farm



Back walking in the stalk fields, through the sticks of cut crop, over the rain flattened wildflowers, to the edge of the field where the stony ground and the sound of a lone wind make me think of wasteland, of a contented desolation. Am amused to find a child’s toy lying by a bale, a Tyrannosaurus Rex cast in plastic, missing both forelegs and all four feet. A dinosaur in a baler accident: nope, didn’t expect that. It’s not an astonishing life defining moment, nor does it need to be. A quirky surprise serves to remind that though lives are plentiful, this one is unique to me. Maybe, in more exotic time zones, other people are uncovering utterly mind-boggling prehistoric beasts, maybe they are at home, wedged in armchairs, frowning at rain. I am here, treading out the boundary mud. 


Comments

  1. Geo.25 August 2012 at 00:01

    I like this post! Fields here in California are also dotted in bales, yet no one sees the balers. One thinks one hears them in the groggy dawn but they are, after breakfast, gone. Why Ufologists get excited over crop-circles but not bales escapes me.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lisa Southard25 August 2012 at 08:48

    I think I saw one, but on the road, not actually baling. It looked like a Star Wars vehicle. Or did I dream that? Mysterious!

    ReplyDelete

Post a comment

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

Popular posts from this blog

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

Windfalls

Image
Going With The Flow Isn't Always Bumpy After work - no swimming. Just stopped by Porthpean to breathe the wild air, to drive home to a powercut, candlelit house where a glass of wine was waiting.  The next day more s torm winds blew, rolling apples down the lawn. Fruit boules? I was in the blackberry hedge, untangling thorny whips and gathering fruit. Dots of blood on fingers, nettle-stung buzz on my shins.  Ideas swirling about plotlines adding to the happiness. Pegged towels on the rotary line which may be a mistake but maybe (definitely, overcome with the exuberant purchase of our not yet delivered kayak) I lied when I said I wouldn’t replace it. I should re-use it, obviously; grow sweet peas on it, perhaps. Sweet peas, and ivy for the evergreen. Meanwhile the line has stretched like cheap elastic and I’m hoping the towels don’t land in the gooseberry prickles. Later I am sat writing, and hiding from the mess downstairs which will turn out fine because there’s a plumber
Read more