Since returning from the UK my mind, body and psyche have been struggling to balance back, into our harsher highland winter climate, after the sublime warmth of an English summer at its best. Although, technically it is now spring in Oz, would someone please inform the weather Gods! Mother Nature appears to know, no one has to tell her! She’s sprouting and blooming, blossoming and popping colour, all over the place but the temperatures are that of the Arctic. Snow to 1200 forecast today. So! Weather elementals …please have pity and send us some sun.
At least the inclemency of the days, makes it very conducive to creativity …and creative, I have been as I make the final decision, which of the four novels currently underway, will be the first, presented to the world, in my new series, Cloak of Magick and Tah Dah …I finally managed to decide …all will be revealed.
Contemplation …a week for writing, being still. Taking time to simply be a part of the landscape …merging with it …letting it absorb me …and then, it speaks volumes.
There is a quality to endless, streaming light
against the backdrop of the sky …the silver orb at night
There is a quality to a sad, haunting refrain
sweeter than the sound, on a parched day … of pattering rain
We cannot quantify, each moment deserves its time
Just as we must pass …in our individual, complex rhyme
…of liquid notes, their quality unsurpassed
Unseen footprints, across dew besprent grass
There is a quality if light, reactive to our mood
A time of grief, when in sadness we may brood
…on all that went before …and is now lost
Perhaps our brooding changes weather …if so I’ll pay the cost
…for today it’s windy, bleak upon my hills
Even in the sunlight, I am wracked with chills
Yet I trust the quality of life that feeds my hungry soul
…and replenishing, to overflowing, fills
There is a particular light at Beyond the Gate Farm, I haven’t seen anywhere else …ever-changing, moving …sometimes of split-second timing to capture. Well my trusty old Konica does, more often than not and the resulting moments fill me with delight. It is this that grounds me back into my domain …my sense of belonging may still straddle two continents but home is where I am.
Under windswept blue skies, continued rain with bursts of sunshine, nature awakes. Work in the greenhouse, finally begins to take shape …weeded, culled, primped and tidied, when the weather is fine, or writing reams, when the promised storms break.
A deep purple sunrise, fades to red
Rain soaks the soil in a garden bed
Pale blue skies, turn grey
om another windswept day
Magpies warble a sweet lament
Trees rustle softly, boughs pliant, bent
in supplication to the season change
Until proudly, their green buds burst, to rearrange
the colours bright, in wood and field
giving promise to a year of growth, to yield
a garden of food and flowers bright
to store for the days of the long dark night
So on the farm, despite the continuing cold, life blooms in the fields and in the greenhouse as slowly buds stir and green fronds unfurl, in answer to the unheard call of spring and finally I can get grubby and muddy even though my fingers and toes are numb.
I love a day of grubbiness
…all cares just fade away
I love the smell of muddy soil
…and the scent of aged mulch-hay
I love the sight, (and sound) of a snoring cat
…when she sleeps away the day
And the wild little dog, too fast to pat
…when all she wants is to play
Then of course there’s the ever-constant friend
…and the sound of the mechanical “snap”
as shutters whir and lenses blur
…on a wet and windswept day
…be blessed in all you do and please tell the weather Gods …it’s supposed to be spring
Penny at Beyond the Gate…