Sometimes, I wish
I could just fly south
with the birds.
birds
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.
Egrets
Unexpected flashes of white
Egrets flapping homewards
across clouds full of rain
Tai chi in the garden II
A robin hops around the lawn
scooping up insects disturbed by
the recent passing of a lawnmower.
Not wanting to interrupt his feast
with tai chi,
I sit on a nearby bench
watching.
My practise becomes
simply sitting,
breathing,
relaxing,
focussing inwards,
as blackbirds
scold the approaching darkness.
Duddon Estuary
The clouds dispersed to reveal the estuary
domed with blue.
A cold north wind blowing
but in the shelter of a hedge
the sun felt warm, springlike
with birdsong
and the first frogspawn in a ditch.
–
The rising, full moon high tide paused
at the outer edge of the saltmarshes
where the birds gathered;
curlew, oystercatcher, redshank.
Then the sea quietly,
relentlessly, marched on over the marshes
scattering birds, forming islands of green
that gradually disappeared underwater.
–
A stream of sea pushed in past our feet
to the railway embankment
signalling the time to leave
this inbetween place
to the sea and sky
and the birds.
Counting birds
These graphs tell a story
A ski slope line runs from the year I was born,
Downhill to today.
A precipitous decline
In numbers
–
Or visualise it another way.
A gullimot fledgling’s daring plunge from the cliff,
The rapid whistling descent of a displaying snipe
The airborne dive of the gannet,
The mournful cry of a lone curlew.
–
The echoing silence of once busy seabird cliffs,
Fields full of crops, but empty of birds,
These graphs tell a story
But the story isn’t finished
How it ends is up to us.
Waiting for inspiration
I have been wondering where my next painting will come from,
When I’ll feel like picking up my brushes again.
I don’t force it,
Inspiration can come in waves, or drops,
It trickled through this weekend,
First, a glimpse of a dusty canvas,
A feeling that I’d like to play with paint on it,
But not knowing what the subject would be.
Then, brightening up breakfast, goldfinches on the bird feeder.
Later, out birding, I glimpsed a tawny owl, roosting in a tree.
I watched a kingfisher, blue and orange among ochre reeds,
It caught three silvery fish while I watched.
And then, through my binoculars, a close up of branches and yellow lichen,
Mossy greens, rich browns and an idea takes shape,
The perfect background on which to paint
Goldfinches.
