Showing posts from September, 2017

Book Review, September

I found this author via Radio 4, Desert Island Discs. Having spent so many years without the funds for new books, I am unaware of many writers whose work I would otherwise be munching up. Of course the 50p box at the second hand store has delivered me many unusual delights, no need for sympathy - but I heard Ali talk and thought, I like her, I want to read those books. So when I could, I bought a brand new paperback. I had been working long hours and the first page swam in front of me for a while. It seemed too dense, I couldn't get through it. Such disappointment! Luckily this was just tiredness - for which I will accept some sympathy because I am tired again today - this week I have clocked 97 hours!  Anyway, we should discuss the book, now I’ve told you how honest-poor and hard working and admirable I am (grins, sheepish, impish). Two stories, one of a young girl whose mother has died, and one of a renaissance artist, are told and spliced without it seeming incongruous. It is fu…

Making Charcoal At The Bulworthy Project

Just a structure, at first. A ring of metal that sits, foot-swaddled in tarred sand.

Autumn Weft

Late in August warm air sunk to the ground, cooler air dropped to our shoulders.
We had felt the thermal transfer - thought of skin softly clothed, cinnamon and blackberries bubbling under pastry.  We felt hot work easing, the loss of hot lazing. 
Rich greens remain, and summer bright blooms. Nasturtiums flare up, like small fires. 
We smelt tree bark, apple skin, damped wood smoke.
Peripheral autumn.
But no season just becomes.  It is a weaving. (Spring in every bud, summer in every petal, autumn in every seed, winter in every root, or however you wish to follow the thread.)
In the hedge two spiders tango on a web - a match, or a meal for one? Berries drop into our cache: sloe, hip, haw, black: a heap of jewels.
Harvest secured, we snuck through tall maize, to feel the leaves grab, and drop rain down our backs. We were racing, laughing, till we saw the bird sat: injured, by a jaw-snap. Too injured for us to mend, and fright would kill as sure as anything. Here it was perched in green sanctuary, cal…