Monday, 24 August 2015
The birds are singing, the sky is blue with fluffy white clouds. Creamy frothy blossom on a rowan tree. Dark blue spikes of bugle flowers. A splash of red campion. Everything is bright and fresh.
9 June 2015
A wild rose in flower and arching its shiny dark green leaves and delicate pink and white flowers against the blue sky. A mock orange (syringa) giving its sweet scent to the breeze. Rowan berries already starting to form, a herald of autumn. Ox-eye daisies starring the verge, with a few splashes of red poppies. Silvery poplar trees like a Corot painting.
11 June 2015
Wild roses trailing. Poplar trees flickering green and silver in the wind. Four Canada geese and eight goslings on the river. Ox-eye daisies everywhere. Hot sun beating down.
23 June 2015
The heady scents of mock orange blossom, honeysuckle, and roses. The sheer abundance of their flowers. The trees: oak, chestnut, poplar, willow, ash.
12 August 2015
Loads of hollyhocks - red, pink, single and double flowers. Apples ripening on the bough. Crab apples too, clustered thickly on the branch.
21 August 2015
A tiny pink paper parasol stuck into the parapet of Donnington Bridge. The circular swirly ripples made in the water by the oars of a passing rowing boat. A Hawthorn tree laden with red berries.
24 August 2015
Dreich this morning - but the river still has a silvery charm. And there are plenty of hawthorn berries for the birds.
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
Spirit of the Woods,
I hear you breathing.
You are in me,
in the wood of the bow,
the taut bowstring,
the flight of the arrow.
I am in the moment,
focussed on the arrow's point.
I am in you, the endless woodland,
where the Hunter and the hunted are one.
May the skill of my arm increase.
May my body move in harmony.
May I be true as my aim is true.
So mote it be.
Monday, 22 September 2014
"Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
"At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Friday, 18 July 2014
So this is my prayer:
Lords of Animals, Ladies of the Flowers,
Gods of green growing things and goddesses of wild animals
Teach us to tread lightly on the Earth,
And walk in harmony with Nature.
The earth, the fire, the water, and the air:
All are sacred,
And the fifth sacred thing is spirit.
Once we were wild,
and instinctively knew
how to walk in a sacred manner.
Now there is so much destruction,
that some are already in mourning,
believing that there is no hope.
I still hope, but I also fear.
May our hearts be open to your promptings,
May our hands be ready for your work
May our minds be in the service of healing
So mote it be.
Thursday, 12 June 2014
(inspired by Crystal Blanton's post, My Hair Doesn’t Get Longer, It Gets Tighter: A Symbol of My Path)
Wednesday, 23 April 2014
I had an amazing dream this morning. I was standing on top of a city that consisted of a collection of small houses, which we realised would have to be turned into a tower for defensive reasons. Just then a tiny spaceship about the size of a coffee pot came and settled in my hand. It started making a humming noise, so I put it to my ear and I could hear a message. The message was that we must stop hurting the Earth. The aliens who had sent the message had despoiled their own planet with pollution and carbon in the atmosphere, and they wanted to save us from the same fate.