Flexibility for the in-between, Never a forte of mine. A bit of both, a Wonderland dream, A transitional unclean drawn line. This season of two seasons, This home ours but not home, This unsettled life with reason, Letting go to grow, restrict to roam. Be gentle on yourselves, they say and I know, Nature’s energy shifting, coinciding with place. Waning to Wax, receding to grow, Saturday morning pancakes in the in-between.
‘Still Life’, An appealing, oxymoronic, beautiful moment. A wistful desire to halt time, As if all of nature can be contained in our gaze, The throbbing, glorious chaos, Captured, contained.
Neck tingles, heartbeat stronger, I lurk by open windows and a door; Rooted in habitual safety, compelled to run wild. How does this electric force awaken primitive instincts, as well as my soul? A surge of potential energy through me, at every crack and fork. I imagine hair loose, standing unprotected, open to its force. A storm in the skies, every way that I look, But a clarity of awakening within.
Crusted icing sugar and biting cold winds, Brought a hungry speckled cousin here, Surveying from swaying fir branches, On a fruit reconnaissance. Our luscious rosy crabapples, The spoils of pigeon feasts. A few still budded the boughs And signalled precious fare. The blush and grey-capped spy grows brave, And plucks one in its beak. On paper-white ground it pecks and feeds, Before the blackbird cousin charges forth. Four times this game of intrepid fieldfare, Back and forth from foe: The…
“Hush” she whispers, tiny fingers to her lips, “Come Mummy; bird!” her eyes sparkle to meet mine. So down we huddle, noses to the glass, Her small person held in my lap. How still she can sit, when wonder enthralled. How fascinated by a young, scruffy blackbird, As it hops, cocks and pulls worms, Oblivious to the snoozing cat at the back of her play den. Together, two hearts, at the window tuned to a third, As the blackbird finds…
She goes down to the cool waters, Sets boats of leaves afloat, She exhales their sails along the top, Of calming reflective pools. She sharply twists the bladed seeds, Watching spirals fall down. She taps the branches of Spring trees, Sending blossoms to the floor. She rings the bluebells in the woods, Peals of dappled light rocking. She puffs the clocks of dandelions, ‘Til small fairies dance about. She is the sprightly nature’s kiss, Who tends to all that’s good,…