I am breathing in the cold night air
as goose calls drift up from the estuary.
We share the same moonlight.
Author: Sarah
A gift
If I could bottle this feeling
of deep relaxed contentment
from an hour and a half
of mindful movement,
I would send it to you
with all my love.
Wild Cat Island
We adored the place. Coming to it we used to run down to the lake, dip our hands in and wish, as if we had just seen the new moon. Going away from it, we were half drowned in tears. No matter where I was, wandering about the world, I used at night to look for the North Star and, in my minds eye, could see the beloved skyline of great hills beneath it.
Arthur Ransome
Floating in the perfect
rock channel harbour
of Wild Cat
Island of my imagination
and childhood reading.
Today I didn’t land
but basked in the sun
reflecting on half forgotten dreams,
happy that a life where this place
is just down the road
was one dream
I made happen.
And I wonder if there are
other dreams from younger days
buried in the habits of adulthood,
shadow realities
which I could choose to bring to life.
The autumn equinox approaches
Sometimes, I wish
I could just fly south
with the birds.
Treasure
set free
from the pages of an old notebook.
I really should be working
The sun streams onto my desk
distracting me with an open invitation.
I wander outside into the crisp
freshness of September
(I really should be working)
air cool, sun warm,
what a delicious combination.
I stroll, and admire the flowers.
This year’s robins practice their trills
and chase each other around the garden
(I should be working, really)
Dewy cobwebs sparkle.
The Chinese lanterns glow
like orange setting suns.
(Should I really be working?)
I have all the time in the world
to work,
long years of it left,
but this one moment of early autumn,
this particular combination of weather
and flowers and birdsong
will never happen again in
exactly the same way.
So I savour it.
Into the darkness
September, and
the nights are drawing in.
Long summer evenings seem
a distant memory.
In the house,
once the lights go on
the world outside seems
so dark,
so uninviting.
–
But it’s still there,
still waiting.
–
Tonight, I venture out,
stumbling until my eyes
grow accustomed to
shades of darkness.
A glow in the west
from the sun, long set,
faintly illuminating
a pale mackeral sky.
Clouds like ripples in sand,
and behind them
faint twinkling stars
guiding me to the north
and the beauty of the night
Castle ruins
The cry of a gull connects
the centuries.
Five metres and four hundred years
above my head
a fire blazes in the grate
warming the cold stone
of a floor that no longer exists.
Mull of Galloway
Savouring the end of summer
among the last blooms of
thrift and sea campion,
the cries of unseen kittiwakes,
clouds of swallows and martins
and the arrow-straight splashing dives of gannets.
It’s that time of year when every bit of warm sunshine is savoured. The air is cooler now, the wind is blowing from the north, but out of the wind the sun is still hot. We sat in the sun on the Mull of Galloway, sharing the end of summer with the birds. Soon they will be leaving, the kittiwakes out to sea, the swallows, house martins and gannets heading south for warmer climes. A day to remember, sunshine,warmth and memories to light us through the winter darkness ahead.
A walk in the rain
Ghostly pine trees,
hilltops lost in mist,
lake reflecting grey.
Drizzle,
then rain in sheets
scudding across the water.
Sweating in waterproofs
with leaky boots,
step by step
we are rinsed,
refreshed,
washed clean,
revitalised.
Life in the Fresh Air 