Skip to main content

First Day In The Year Of The Metal Ox

Four pictures in a collage, top one is of bare tree tops, two are of a black and white bull looking up, one a side view of him eating, sky is wintry

Over this last week I did remember to go to work, then came home and back to writing.

Popped outside to admire sleek ice every now and then; sometimes stars nestled in their velvet sky.
One cold sunny morning the elder trees were pruned, and the wild rose in the rockery.
Spring flowers were pushing up, not enough to lift the winter slowness, nor should we be in a rush to be rid of winter. We need our fallow times. Slow is important.
This morning I dropped the car to Race Hill Garage since the tyre and handbrake warning lights are sparking up without reason (that I know of- a sensor may need replacing on this, my metal ox). Walked home facing the whip of the wind, glad of the long coat I was wrapped in. Stopped to photograph a lone bull - it’s your Year, I call to it, we too are in lockdown solitudes, let us have solidarity. It bowed a bovine head to continue chewing.
Looked up to the treetops of the Small Woods where the spring buds hold tightly poised.
It is good to rest, and good to make ready.
Labels:

Comments

Elephant's Child said…
It is indeed good to rest - and for myself I NEED it to make ready.
12 February 2021 at 20:23
Lisa Southard said…
Resting is an underrated skill! Sending soothful wishes xx
16 February 2021 at 09:07
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

Hometime Foam Time

It was hot outside, cold indoors. When we were freed from the hall I opened my car thinking oven gloves might be required for driving. I was weary. I was lined up for a row of shifts- but the evenings are lighter now, and the beach was calling. I drove a wiggly route to Veryan (the road I chose was closed) and down to Carne Beach. Since I had checked the weather the wind had turned easterly, and the tide was in. There were waves smacking over a disappearing line of fine sand. Undeterred I wriggled my swimsuit on and went to play in the foam.  Neither air nor sea was particularly cold. Blue and cloud patterned sky, blue and turquoise patterned sea, flowers blooming and swooshed by the wind, and the warm brown crags of rock: to be here was to be directly connected to the source of all existence.  Home time was foam time, and vice versa. Afterwards I sat in my car, door open, eating a square of dark chocolate, watching the white flecks and trying to work out if the dark dot was a...
Post a Comment
Read more