Autumn Soundtrack



Hogweed seed has dramatic umbrels




September, mid afternoon; we hear the constant fluctuation of wasps in the willow arch, hungry and heedless of the hornets that are raiding wasp-grubs. Leaves are drying, edging into new colour, whispering. Indoors, every hour is backgrounded in blips. Apple wine, timing its own fermentation, a liquid metronome. September, first autumn month, the ninth month, the evening: against the dark, logs crackle fierce in the fire pit. Wine sloshes into glasses; a soothing mesmer made. Eyes droop. We stoop to bed hearing ourselves list jobs to be done, plans that slide into dreams of us on our land, and there is music playing and we are laughing (but this is us snoring, by now.) September dawn, birds’ chorus bursting bright. Later in the morning, coffee softly drops into a pot.



A log glows purple in a fire pit at night

Comments

  1. Susan Flett Swiderski17 September 2018 at 18:27

    Lovely writing, as always. I sure wish it were cool enough to merit a merry fire in our fireplace. We've had a couple days hit 95 recently, and it's "only" expected to hit 90 today. The spirit is willing to think about baking apple pies, but the body's still feeling like sticking with the summertime treats.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Lisa Southard19 September 2018 at 08:34

      Yep, I would stick with the summertime treats in your place! Hope the heat gives you some respite soon :-)

      Delete
  2. Unknown20 September 2018 at 08:37

    Love this! Made me feel part of what was going on x love the pic too xx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Anonymous21 September 2018 at 11:30

      Thank you :-) Good to know, because drawing the reader in is an important part of writing for me xx

      Delete

Post a comment

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

Popular posts from this blog

Three Letters To Grace

Image
Words On Love, Loss, And Grieving



21/5/2020 Dear Grace,
I have said how your legacy is the small kind things; I have been noticing them more and more. It’s almost ridiculous, in a wonderful way, to be so taken by the pattern on a plate or how clever elastic is. I can’t stop making beautiful meals. Yesterday I woke up with the bravado to debone a turkey leg. It took awhile; regret was made fleeting by success. I feel like you know. That your light and care are here in everything and that’s why I am continually tuning in. The energy to transform everything is part of this, to celebrate our ordinary splendour. This has manifested into some minor furniture renovations and uncovered a leaking pipe under the bath. (I think we can fix it, I’ve put a cloth down for now to soak it up, left it open to dry out the floor and the rotted skirting board. The bath panel is outside meanwhile… should I paint it? Probably not…)
This is the best of grief; the deep and peaceful loss, the fine example, your …
Read more

Corona Creep Up

Image
Words From The Start Of Lockdown Life


Saturday March 14th 2020
On the drive to work I got bored of changing the windscreen wiper settings, then a little off-white spider raced around on the steering wheel. I blew it onto the dashboard but it jumped back. Cheeky spider. At work we are bored of coronavirus restrictions and bored at the prospect of it continuing. We don’t know anyone who has it. Supermarket shelves are missing toilet roll, dried pasta, as previously, now also tins of beans and tomatoes. There are travel bans and cancelled events. Last night I had to teach a non contact TKD session - no pads, no sparring, no hand shaking. I began my class with ‘first of all, please don’t breathe because that’s dangerous now.’ All of us are ‘meh’ about these restrictions. We understand that infection control is serious for the immune-compromised, we adhere to protocol for that reason. But the paranoia and boredom: meh. Monday March 16 2020 Yesterday Mr and I did some babysitting for Grandch…
Read more

A Rainbow Strikes

Image
June is rolling by, awash, so everyone has forgotten that it's summer now.  This morning I peered into the vegetable plots, into the swaying minarets of onion buds, the splay of cabbage seed pods, not sure if the raspberries were the summer or the autumn kind.  Lovage flowers, tiny spray on tall stems; lavender in bud: summer. Wild strawberries and rose petals in the dehydrator and the windows open to better hear the thunder: summer. After an evening swim one must wrap up: always. 
I am busy writing a story that seems to be running in rings about me, I am busy wild swimming to clear my head; working to pay the bills, reading up on rural planning law to wrestle reality from a dream. Picking the roses, the strawberries, the onion flowers. Tending the cabbage bed.  Standing still when I remember: see the swallows swoop by. Or floating, bobbing up toes, while each rain drop ripples out. Or that stop on the beach, while I am looking ridiculous with a towel on my head; two lumpy layered jumpers…
Read more