Summer lady

 
Day by day, I sat here
I watched the world go by 
The birds on the window feeder
Queuing up on the telephone line
but beyond there my eye had not gone
till this moment on this blue sky day
 
Suddenly the world has changed colour,
The birch white trunk rises through a froth of leaves
The dun coloured fields are verdant
The dead trees are alive, dark stems hold leaf
Fresh green of baby leaves, blue green of faded daffodils,
rich green leaves sprouting deepest bluebells
 
Even the dark greens of the Holly
suddenly have pale soft leaves of that fresh green
The blue of the sky is now the summer blue burnished bright
Not the pale lambent dreamy blue of winter
Under the greening canopy, ransoms white and bitter sharp stars
Gleam and the air is rich with garlic
 
Senses become alive, as do the mornings, no longer silent
But full of joyous soft songs of dove, blackbird, thrush,
Robin, willow warbler, blue tit, wren and dunnock
The earth itself breathes out its first breaths
Rich brown aroma of promise, the rose rises to answer
Seeds break the surface - yet another green
 
Will these little threads of palest green,
really become the grey green of lavender.
The dark green rosemary holds up its blue flower  
The thin green chives lift balloons from the dark earth
Shrouded Purple stars to follow the wild white stars
The Summer lady is dancing today

where

Enter into the Holy  place 

Enter into the  divine  grace

Shall we  marvel at the  finery  

The Glory and  splendour

The majesty and opulence,  

Shall  royal music  fill our  ears ?

Or  shall we  bow our  head in wonder 

at the simplicity of the stable,

shall we walk in amazement 

as he walks  on the  road with us?

Shall we cry  at the  spectacle of the

Dead man on a  cross, repeated again and again?

Every place is  holy,  the veil is torn away so

enter the holy place,  enter into his  love 

and receive the divine grace

in whatever place you  sit.

Mountain, valley, river or desert  

Wherever you walk, he walks with you

11th October 2021

 Now  the shadows of the year

Grow longer, now the colours 

Of the year turn away from the green

Streaming into gold and red and  yellow and orange

Fire colours in the cold air of autumn

Now the little groups of birds hunt for

The winter food  stores 

The wind blows cold through the open window  

White clouds drift across the pale blue sky  

A clear sun lights the hills,  it’s heat a shadow  

It’s fire is lost, lost into the crisp dying leaves 

Of the golden trees.

Soon we will see  the filigree of winter,

Instead of this faded memory of High 

Summer days, high  unending skies, gulls  calling  across

The bay.  Light deep into night,  stars like diamonds

In velvet.

Memory is not the same, I shiver in the wintered wind. 

Will these  northern winds  bring the wild swans? 

Will geese  from Svalbard feed  on these  fading  fields ?

All those  pumpkins won’t frighten the winter sprites

As they take the colours away from the land,  

Leaving  here and there flashes of red on the rowans 

To show the birds where there is food,

The holly dark green sharp leaves keep birds and sprites  

at bay,  hiding their red drops till the feasting times of the Nativity 

and the turning of the year  

Quiet

Stillness,  the quiet of day,  sun  on the dunes

The gentle ripples of the clear waters 

As they seek the sea, turning this way and that 

The sky is alive  with music,  there a tiny bird

Fills the blue vault of heaven with song  

The maytree heavy with rich scented blossom 

Casts a dappled  shade

A buzzing  drone  to the skylark  provided  by bees  

Bees  of every shape and  size amongst its creamy blossom,

A mew of the buzzard adds a wild note 

Bass comes from the great black ravens

As they dance in the sky room 

A silence  of singing birds,

A silence of the lifegiving river

A silence  of  bees

A silence  of Life

Where is summer ?

 Winter seems still to grip  me and the land

Despite  blue  skies and  scudding  clouds 

The bright sun seems  cold  somehow

The daffodils  are still flowering and

 the Bluebells and the May Tree too

Tulips finally break cover – a hint of blue  on the hyacinth

each day brings a tiny change

I am weary of this long winter, my bones ache and crack

As  they were frosted twigs

The May Tree blooms  regardless of the cold,

Like the  birds who take the nesting cue from  the lengthening day

But winter clings on, despite  the greening of the valley 

Cold north winds  push the swallows  away from their summer barns

Pentecost passes and the fire is cold and distant       

Homeland

 Dreams  of  winds  on the dunes  

Marram grass whispering 

Ravens  dancing  on the Air 

An amphitheatre of sand and grass  

The river running down to the sea,   

the  mountains over the water 

Stillness  seizes  my soul

Quietness touches my mind 

A holy land,  

A Hajj denied us

Now the summer warmth is in the sun

Nights  draw  out  

Will our pilgrim feet  

Be set free?  will I walk again

On that precious  land?

Will healing return?            

Kaya

High  above the  valley the old causeway 

Runs  across  the northern hills from east west

A stony lane leads  off to the  farm below

In the old wall a gap stile lets me squeeze into the wood

Now in days of the old winter, its dark beneath the evergreen, 

she runs ahead,  white and  brown under the  trees

dancing on the pine needles that carpet the ground.

One leap takes her to  the bank of the fast clean running beck

A water in the tongue of the peoples here.

She  laps the cool water, leaps  back and  off again

flag waving tail , shining in the gloom, a whistle

and she turns  and hurtles toward us laughing,  

plants a muddy paw on my clean jeans and  off

weaving through the dark conifers, following her nose

excitement, in every  glance , every smiling look back at us

One last run to Redmires Water before it falls

into the ravine too steep even for her.

 

The wood ends and the open moor field opens in front of us,

scattered with great slabs of millstone grit, dry but cold

I perch for a while on the broad surface of the rock

And she  flies down the field,  no  farm animals  here today, 

a narrow path leads down the field,  but not for her

The tussocks of moor grass are full of precious scents

here one - there another, soon she is  almost out of sight,

but ever and again  there she is,  the shining white and brown

winking in and out of the grassy mounds. 

I call,  and suddenly  the sense  of  speed and dog

coalesce in the streaking  joyous animal  running to me.

Praised, rewarded she dances  up and around me as we return to the wood

Retracing our path,  thirsty, as soon as she can

she  drinks deeply from the cold running water,  jump ups the other bank,

has a quick nose  before leaping the whole width of the brook,

landing on the soft carpet next to me.

 

Two years she has been on this earth and all is well,   she doesn’t worry

unless we  are five mins late with her tea,

unless we are upstairs, because then she greets us as if we have been to Ulan Bator

unless we  have forgotten it is time for her treat and then the sadness of God is in her eyes as she  lies her head in front  of me.  She is lying on the sofa, warm against my leg,  head on my knee, her deep brown eyes  looking  across the room, gently closing.

Gently sleeping  till another of her favourite people comes in, all is joy and greeting again