Gone canoeing

It’s the August bank holiday here in England. This is a note I left in the kitchen on Saturday.

Going canoeing reminded me of a poem I wrote on May Day bank holiday 2018. Reposting it here:


A click of the shutter

I don’t have a waterproof camera

and my phone is wrapped in plastic, safe in a drybag,

for emergencies only.

And so I have no photos to share

to say I was here,

to try to convey the meaning of a moment.

But how often does a photograph really do that?

After all, there are other senses than sight.

So.

Bank holiday monday,

Coniston Water

the end of a scorching weekend.

Paddling south (first time in my canoe this year)

away from the crowds,

my arms remember how good it feels,

burn of working muscle

taking me further from the voices and barbecue smoke.

Past open water swimmers towing orange floats

who stop for a chat in the middle of the lake

unfazed by the deeps,

complaining of the cold water.

Past moored boats, and pine tree promentaries,

shingle beaches overhung with oaks,

until, at the south end of the lake

as yellow reeds narrow to reveal the start of a river,

I turn around to head back north and see

spread before me the calm lake

bordered by woods in the first flush of spring green,

low bracken-covered hills glowing

in the early evening sunshine,

the Coniston fells beyond, blue and slightly misty.

That is the moment I would have pressed the shutter.

But could that photograph record

the pleasant ache of shoulders and arms,

the gentle forward motion of the canoe,

the sound of water lapping,

a mind quietened to contentment?

One moment, containing

a sense of returning, of welcome,

a glimpse of childhood,

a farewell to winter,

and the seed of all the summers to come.

Walking in summer rain

I walk on,

aware of grey storm clouds

gathering,

darkening,

first few spots of rain.

The estuary beckons.

I walk on.

The clouds open,

rain pounding on my

waterproof jacket,

pouring streams down

my legs, drenching

my cotton trousers,

filling my shoes.

I walk on,

the estuary misty

shades of silver.

For the raindrops

bouncing off my head,

running down my legs,

I am simply a detour

between the clouds

and the sea.

I walk home,

feet surprisingly warm

as my body heats

the rain in my shoes.

This is what it is

to be

alive.

The cricket

The distant sound

of cricket on the radio

drifts hypnotically through

the open window.

Sitting at my desk

I struggle to stay awake,

work seems irrelevant,

not made for summer days.

Even the sound of someone

scoring something,

the cheers of the crowd,

the raised voices

of the commentators,

fail to rouse me

from this mid-afternoon torpor.

This moment

At the end of the garden

sipping beer,

the bench in early evening sun

still warm.

I read a new book,

Chinese mountain poetry,

a subject about which

I know little.

Centuries apart,

it seems we write

about the same things.

Then a sparrow chirps

in the hedge,

pulls me fully

into the present moment.

Always, and only,

this moment.

Boredom

Boredom sits heavy.

Don’t resist,

don’t drive it away

with endless scrolling

or unnecessary busyness.

Let it be.

Mooch around.

Feel a little fed up.

Just when you think

you can’t take any more,

you will notice something.

Within the boredom,

a little seed of creativity

is growing.

Give it space.

Wait, then watch it blossom

into ideas,

into action.


An empty holiday cottage on the Dorset coast. Everyone else has gone out. At first, the peace is bliss, then I get bored.

Then eventually the boredom transforms into the wish to draw. But all my sketchbooks, pencils and paints are at home.

My eyes fall on my nephews’ drawing book and gel pens.

My fingers itch to draw.

I have an idea.

I go and find their favourite toys, scattered around the house.

I draw each one, 2 monkeys and 2 cats, on random pages.

Tomorrow we all go home.

Sometime in the future, when my nephews look for a clean sheet of drawing paper, they will find my drawings.

And when I get home I will get my paints out. And maybe add some gel pens to my ever expanding range of art materials.

Thank you boredom!