Day 53: Weeping blackbird

Do not disturb me

I can barely move

I do not wish to

Let me sit

Quiet and unhindered

As the pages softly turn

And the wind scatters apple petals

Across the garden

I am holding something

So small and secret

That I cannot see it

With waking eyes

The feeling

Perhaps

But I dare not say it aloud

Directly

I cannot name it

For to name is to give it power

Despair

Unthought

It sits deep inside

And defuses a taste

Or colour

To everything

So subtle it cannot be seen

Not even violent enough to be fear

Nor boisterous

But gentle

Like a weeping blackbird

Hidden in the bush

Grief takes over

Some days

Day 52: These small days

It grew cold in the night

And we all relished the inward-looking invitation

To wrap up under fleece blankets

And watch unsuitable tv

And Star Wars

A New Hope

We made train tracks

And sang songs about pooing on the toilet

Got annoyed when he didn’t

Beating up ourselves

For not teaching him right

I read and read

An old familiar

About Merlin and magic

I sat on the wicker two-seater

Occasionally lifting my eyes

From the page to look

And marvel at the rare rain

I felt the trees soak up the water

I think I am running out of wisdom to learn

These small days

Of children and food

Of words and trees

Just hold me in their company

With no vast truths to tell

I sit

And wait

Like we all are doing

For something unknown

To both begin and end

Day 51: Stacks of stones

The riverbank

Stones dry now when

They should be damp

It’s been eight weeks of lockdown

And many hours of heat

Deer prints

Otter

Gull

Child

Dog

And human touch of moved rock

Sandy between whitening boulders

Each time we go down there

To the riverbank

More stones have been

Stacked and placed

By human hands

Even my altar has been made

Into a table leg

A more practical use

Than ritual

Toadlings

Their pool a month too small

Scum floats upon the surface

They squirm

Do they feel how little time they have?

We stack and stack

The quiet click of stone

Upon stone

The only sound

Quiet meditation

Feel the still point

And dissolve into balance

A city!

A hospital

An altar- much more elaborate than Teisa’s

Where I would place a single flower

Or leaf for gratitude

To the flow and power of the river

Stones upon stones

Stacked for the beauty of the process

Like cups pecked into rock

It is the act

The doing that counts

Angel wings

Caught in time

Once so long ago

An angel laid down

And was turned to stone

Day 50: The perfect circle

Today is VE day

The day when Europe glimpsed

How possible it was for

love and forgiveness

To come to pass

My father

A mere babe

Evacuated from London

To Wales with older sisters

And mother

While granddad was a milkman

With a horse and cart

Eltham

They came home to him

To the horse and the milk

Bunting and cake

Kisses from strangers

And so many tears on his toddler head

My son

His age now

With two older sisters

Waiting patiently for peace to reign

For our dreams of love

To manifest and come to pass

And we wait

To step outside the front door

To tears and hugs and joy

And a promise of all we hope for

Societal cohesion

Community care

Ecological restoration

Deep awareness of the human niche

Manifesting our place

For we were meant to have one

And many are remembering

I drew the perfect circle

In chalk

I wish it were permanent

But it is blowing away

As soon as I draw it

Day 49: Small transformations everywhere

Everywhere are

Changes

I mean of the transformational kind

Dandelion into clock

Or

Romantic blackbirds

Into parents

Or mourners

Bare tree into blossoming

Cherry

Into shedder of display

Into bursting with

Fruit beginnings

Daffodils into dying heads

clumps of a has-been

Display that needs to be

Left

Untouched and

Forgotten as we move

Onto the next blissful

Bouquet

Let them return to the Earth

Unseen

To do their important work

Of renewal and birth

Raspberries are coming

But the buds have not even yet

Opened into petals

Yet I am hopeful of a bumper crop

Chalk pictures

Get drawn

A portal of magic

Then scuffed and scattered

Into dust of rainbow hues

Books have changed

From words of promise

Into received wisdom

And I am changed

Change goes ever on;

It is the one

Constant

Day 48: The veg patch

I put out the carrots today

In a patch of brocolli

Pea and lettuce

On ground we are moving from

A house ours yet not ours

Roots for plants

Meant for our tummies

But what if the carrots don’t grow in time

For us to eat and the

Broccoli flowers

For someone else?

Still I sit

On the old broken chair

Surrounded by the tiniest

Most vulnerable

Shoots

I take my flip flops off

And I breathe in the growth

And love them

Wish them health

To thrive

It isn’t about the end result

Food to eat and abundant

Harvest anymore:

Nurturing

Is about

Love

Day 47: Why should I

How hard it is to find something to write

Every

Single

Day

How minuscule and inconsequential

These days seem to me

And why should I write of what we do

When so hard

So deeply

Sit the days for others

For us- apples keep blossoming

And now the cherry blossom

Has finally dropped

And sprinkled the ground with

Spring time snow

A celebration of the marriage

Confetti came from

The Horned God

And his Divine Consort

Bluebells now

Dot the gladed garden

Dandelions

Wild garlic explosions

I sit in the midst of a blessing

Why should anyone read this?

For comfort and knowing

There is a grace in this

Day 46: Sun worship

I got so burned again

In this unseasonal heat

No clouds

Just sun and blue sky

My skin

So white and soft and usually covered

Cannot deal with the onslaught of

Light

What joy

I can feel the vitamins sucking into my pores

And the warmth

Caressing

Pre-rheumatic joints

Take what you can

Because tomorrow is

Cloudy

So many who catch the skin

cancer

Do not even have passports

Did you know that?

I shudder

And sit

Anyway

What should I fear most?

Malnutrition from no

Northern sun,

Or too much of a good thing?

Day 45: Haikus #3

Daffodil wonders

Why doesn’t anyone take

My photo in death?

Dandelion shuts

And awaits the transition

Into a timepiece

I wonder what will

Happen to us when we leave?

Apple blooms anyway

There is a meadow

Where lady’s smock grows peaceful

Where I walk and smile

Wild magic takes toll

On spirit and body and

I need to ground, Earth

Day 44: Masked

My turn to go to the supermarket

all ailments suddenly inflated

what if my cough is The cough?

I mask up

 

 

 

 

In the supermarket

on goes the mask and a man

asks if they work?

I reminded him about wearing trousers when he

pisses himself and I won’t get wet

He actually smiled

 

 

 

 

The checkout lady

gave me the most heartfelt

thank you

I’ve had for a very long time

 

 

 

The cough hasn’t been

since

 

 

 

 

A Zoom call

again- when will they end?

My arse is getting wide-

and in front of a group of wise women

I appear

 

 

 

 

This time there is no mask

not one.

Vulnerable and kind

generous and wise

we learn

and we are seen

really seen

 

 

 

 

Look at each other- really 

look

I say

Perhaps it’s easier to really look

when there are two screen and

hundreds of miles between the eyes

 

To be seen, masked up and

mask gone-

how the vulnerability

sings through my bones