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.

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.

Twilight practice

I used to worry.

What will the neighbours think

if I do tai chi in the garden?

This summer I tried it.

What a gift,

being present outdoors

at the end of the day.

Robins, blackbirds,

the wind in the trees,

flowers, bats, hedgehogs, owls,

the moon, clouds, rain,

the setting sun,

a scattering of stars,

mars, even saturn

have been part of my practice this summer.

Who cares what the neighbours think!

On blogging

I’ve been in this peaceful corner of the internet for nine months now.

I wanted a place to write, to explore ideas, to experiment, to see what this blogging thing was all about.  To share, maybe, if anyone found my blog.

I started out thinking I’d write about creativity, and how to fit it into a busy life, about nature, and the importance of connecting with the natural world.

I ended up writing poetry.  Poems about everyday life; the first snowdrops of spring, anxiety before a hospital appointment, the first canoe trip of the year, tai chi.

I luxuriated in language.   I wrote about things that I don’t usually talk about, feeling safely anonymous among millions of bloggers.

I haven’t been trying to promote my blog, but somehow I now have some followers.

♥ Thank you! ♥

I follow some of the people who have commented or followed my blog and now every weekend my inbox contains poetry and stories.  Some of my favourites so far:

The Cedar Journal – adventures of a Cedar Canoe

Elle Guyence, who writes a beautiful poem every week

Paperbark Writer Australian nature meets science & art, which combines many of my favourite things in one blog!  Actually I’ve been following this blog for a few years now, it’s really inspiritational and makes me want to visit Australia again.

 

So, I’m going to keep on writing, exploring, experimenting and reading and see what the next nine months bring for Life In The Fresh Air!

Sea pilgrims

Here we are,

the sea pilgrims.

The wanderers,

the seekers,

the beachcombers,

the sunset-catchers.

Not many of us tonight.

A damp evening,

dark before its time.

Thunder rumbles in the distance,

water mirrors grey

and turns it into silver,

alchemy before our eyes.

An infinite supply of treasure

for a sea pilgrim.

We leave the shore,

turn inland,

the light darkens,

sky lowers,

but inside us the sea shines silver,

and fills our hearts with light.

Heatwave

11pm in the garden,

the air like velvet on my bare arms,

unexpectedly warm.

A soft breeze caresses the leaves.

Two owls squabble

under an orange moon

as I savour the silky night.

Nights like this belong to other places.

Reluctantly I return indoors.

The owls sing me to sleep.

Forest Bathing

At a conference,

head bursting with ideas.

Talks about nature and wellbeing,

beauty, emotions,

the benefit of mindful ‘forest bathing’,

the importance of nature connections.

Invigorating subjects

dried up by windowless rooms,

air conditioning,

artificial lighting

and too many strangers.

Break time and I escape

into a bookshop.

Funny how I always end up in one of these

when the urban world becomes too much.

My shoulders drop as I cross the threshold,

calm among wood

pulped and pressed into pages,

the ghosts of trees.

A forest of paper and words,

and silence.

I feel at home

I don’t read them, just soak in the cathedral-like atmosphere

and refrain from buying another expensive notebook.

I feel the benefit of a kind of forest bathing,

a tenuous connection to nature

until I can get back to the real thing.