Skip to main content

A Journey Up



In the bank of the river the roots of a fallen tree: sickly pale, lumpy metatarsals, poke out and shiver. The tree is further down, flood dumped and gathering its own beach. I climb where birds have nested and watch out over the water. Sun plays in the eddies: some look friendly and some deceiving. Daffodils on the path are budded; a warm spring smell of earth, onion, water and a hint of baked dung; see how the light makes a flowing jewel of the river: I follow the path through the odorous ramson leaves, over tunnel mazes where badgers mark their territories with gleaming coils of excrement: amazing what there is to marvel the senses here. All the way up the loose steep path, to see the river shining like cut citrine quartz.



Comments

nutschell said…
love the photos and the imagery of your words :)
Nutschell
www.thewritingnut.com
6 March 2013 at 19:38
Geo. said…
Beautiful. With the exception of baked dung, which I lately equate with identity thieves, our posts are closely related --but yours, as pleasantly usual, looks lovelier on the page. Thank you for providing this calm and moving reflection to a presently jumpy American mind!
6 March 2013 at 21:43
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you Nutschell :-)
Happy to be the bringer of calm, Geo- hope you get the theft redressed!
7 March 2013 at 22:28
Suze said…
My heart goes out to you and Geo.
8 March 2013 at 02:45
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...
2 comments
Read more

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...
26 comments
Read more

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack:  Lisa Southard
Post a Comment
Read more