In Thrall




This morning's suspicion: that the weather is hungover. The sky is a sludge, very much as though head-aching weather has smeared cloud around, thought 'that will do,' and gone back to bed. A definite air of not being finished, under which I decide to stroll, maybe towards the river, maybe not, because it is that sort of a day. And while strolling with vague intent, I spy a path, an old path to the top of the steep woods. Dog and I vanish in an oesophageal gap.
Dog's eyes shine, borderline demonic, she is on some canine bacchanalia, dancing crazy through the ground cover. I am stomping bramble-gates, sinking in pine needle pile-ups, unhooking from crafty roots. There are openings into the ground, set in the hill, that seem to slide under bedrock, just wide enough to drag a person through. No one knows where I am; this thought comes as a lovely shock. I could disappear. I could live here. It would be simple, in the sense of a matter of keeping oneself alive. That's the loveliness of it. 


Comments

  1. klahanie24 October 2012 at 00:36

    Ah, and through the gentle, innocent eyes of this dog, the wonder of a hideaway brings me a sense of peace.
    Thank you for this.

    In peace and pawsitivity, Penny the Jack Russell dog :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Suze24 October 2012 at 03:59

    I'd miss you.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Lisa Southard24 October 2012 at 09:30

    Gary and Penny! We once had a legendary Jack Russell named Penny. She would dive after seals- barely a glimmer of an idea of limitations in that dog!!
    Suze- I would visit! Looking forward to my next woodland ramble but coming home to the Rayburn and the glorious smell of coffee soon redomesticated me :-)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Suze24 October 2012 at 22:38

    :)

    It's funny to imagine anything redomesticating you. But I can certainly see coffee -- even the very scent of it brewing -- doing the trick. Ambrosia ...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Lisa Southard24 October 2012 at 23:28

    This is only my version of domestic, which pretty much amounts to making things smell like coffee whilst vaguely living in a house :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

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

Popular posts from this blog

Unusual Koalas

Image
23/4/22 Saturday Coffee and stretches start this day, then I go off to work and Mr readies himself to meet Contractor Thomas on the land, to talk tracks and flat areas for camping pitches. (This meeting has taken around 5 months to arrive, and that’s how it goes with land plans, folks.) Hydrotherapy sessions have restarted, so to keep our care client entertained but not tired prior to this we have set up disco lights to play over her mat where she sits with her toys. It’s a cool clouded day and we are all disco-dappled and listening to birdsong on YouTube. 24/4/22 Sunday Rain, moderate, mostly over Bodmin Moor. Our care client is tired from her hydrotherapy yesterday, she plays on her mat in between snoozes. We have lakeside and beach scenes courtesy of YouTube; she loves the sounds of nature, I love pretending to be on a writing retreat. Get writing done in short bursts. It is not easy to world build in break times like this, but we edge through it. I type ‘we’ here because Care Clien
Read more

The Week Of Clarke And Covid

Image
30/4/22 Saturday It’s not odd to wake up achy. Yesterday I was dragging and rolling logs, amongst other land tasks. I don’t feel right though, so I take a covid test before thinking about heading to work. The control line is bold red, the test line is barely visible but it’s not not there... message my coworker to pre-warn her that I might not be arriving, though the result may be erroneous. Wait one hour. Re-test. Both lines bold red. Mr’s test is negative, putting him on nurse duty. It feels wrong, at first, not to be off to work, but while I am sitting in bed reading up on the pros and cons of stone tracks; drainage issues in particular; the excitement of having a rest kicks in. Mr goes to the shops and comes home with a cream tea.  1/5/22 Sunday The last calendar month of spring begins with light rain, light grey sky, barely a breeze. The hedge birds have a lot to say; swallows swoop by the bedroom window so fast I see only a fork-tailed blur. Today I rest, I write. 2/5/22
Read more

Worth Every Ache

Image
9/4/22 Saturday Overnight a frost had lain down on our lawn, nestled to the edges. Sun rose unobstructed, warmed the ice to water, gave it little rainbows to wear. At work, I walked to Bethel Tesco to discover they do not have ink cartridge recycling envelopes anymore. They advised that I try the post office- also nope, but the post box had a yarn-bomb bunny on it, and the sun was warm, and everything was cheerful. 10/4/22 Sunday A frost, a pair of coffee cups, a lecture on agroforestry: we start the day right. Browse trees for a while, then up and on with daily stuff like raking out the fire ash and going to work. 11/4/22 Monday Morning: wild wind kicking through the garden. Put my pots in sheltered spots. Drive to work slowly because fuel is expensive, many high-sided vehicles also going slow for safety reasons, roads are busy due to Easter hols, definite convoy vibe.  Outside the air is fresh, bright, summer seems possible, another frost also possible- mischievous weather. 12/4/22
Read more