A local walk I like to think is my own.
How quiet is the forest.
Beside the brook, I hear cracking hogweed, like tiny castanets.
And rustling grasses looking like fairy tassles.
I see illuminating, floating gold dipped seed dust, filtered in ribbons between stately trees.
Scratching dry earth with a hawk’s feather, it feels worn like old leather.
How quiet is the forest.
It’s been a very strange year of many ups and downs and I apologise to everyone who follows me, likes my blog and enjoys reading my posts. I promise to make 2019 the year when I pen my poetry and get painting again. After one of our beloved Border collies died suddenly last year, the arrival of our Slate merle pup in early spring and Skye, our surviving blue merle having a Stroke, I wondered whether life would ever become calm again.
However, Storm is a year old now, pictured above, and has a lovely nature; she gets on really well with Skye and has helped Skye get over her Stroke by assisting with her physio!
We’ve had lovely holidays in North Norfolk walking along the Coastal path, across the salt marshes and on Holkham beach and I have enjoyed a few hours here and there to paint.
I hope you like my photos and my watercolour painting of the cheeky robin who visits my bird table every morning. I have designed a Christmas card, so he can be enjoyed by friends and family.
I wish you all a warm, peaceful and jolly Christmas and the best of luck for 2019!
XxX
White pillows
Float into hollows, nooks
And burrows.
Aspen and willow,
Stark, dark: sinister
Whispering sharp wind
Billows.
Lichen hillocks.
Holly and blackthorns
Creak under laden leaves
Dripping icy nature’s tea.
Flirty flurries settle on warm cheeks
And tiny beaks.
Woodland Wildlife seeks solace
From fizzing blizzards.
Autumn’s door closes as
Winter’s door opens to
A welcoming hearth of
Glowing embers: friends remembered.
Bessoms sweeping crispy leaves,
Birds feeding on filigree seeds.
Sipping warm mead, reading
Gilded tomes about far away homes,
goblins, gnomes, fairies and
Treasure troves.
​
Misty early morn,
Corn shingle showers
Bless the flowers;
A festival of summer colours,
Candy stripes, mulled wine fine
Carressing petals;
Apricot posies with sanguine stamens!
Cream puffy ruffles, delicious as truffles!
Rosy pink lips that bumble bees kiss.
Whispy wandering webs where tiny feet
Tread tip toed to and fro
Collecting magical scented dew.
Far and wide wood pigeons sigh,
Long-tailed tits flit about finding tasty bits.
Fallen apples ripe and tangy lie
Beneath dangly, tangled bramble boughs.
Hollyhocks and poppyheads rustle
Amongst the bustling of late summer.
​
Misty early morn,
Corn shingle showers
Bless the flowers;
A festival of summer colours,
Candy stripes, mulled wine fine
Carressing petals;
Apricot posies with sanguine stamens!
Cream puffy ruffles, delicious as truffles!
Rosy pink lips that bumble bees kiss.
Whispy wandering webs where tiny feet
Tread tip toed to and fro
Collecting magical scented dew.
Far and wide wood ppidgeons sigh,
Long-tailed tits flit about finding tasty bits.
Fallen apples ripe and tangy lie
Beneath dangly, tangled bramble boughs.
Hollyhocks and poppyheads rustle
Amongst the bustling of late summer.
​
Wild briar rose,Sun soaked face,
Petals as sheer as fine lace;
Like a dancer on tip toes
Wearing silky pink bows,
Silently pirouetting.
Suddenly a brazen breeze
Brings a helter shelter of
Hawthorn mizzle.
She shelters under a petal glaze
Forlorly marooned in scented dew.
Hawthorn petals
like a lace wedding veil,
torn in a March gale;
sailing on scented winds
like fairy wings-
bringing spring’s tingling feeling
of happy, lingering, sunny days.
This poem is dedicated to yesterday’s International Poetry Day and a celebration of spring.
I’m really enjoying our walks in the countryside around Cople. Each day I wonder how many more buds are out, what suprises are there under the hedgerows: daisies, celedine, anemonies and tiny violets. Skylarks serenade us along the paths at the edges of fields and red kites circle above. Our prize is watching the brown hares running along the furrows and sunning themselves. Such beauty is to be savoured every moment!
The misty morn peels,
Revealing sentinels of wintery fields.
Tallow rays, like a sweet mead glaze
Healing: a warming haze.
Treading through the meadow, footsteps as light as a fae,
Amazingly, brightening the day,
A pretty, pixie flower called sweet violet
Appears alone, shielded by the sleeping hedgerow
And wrapped with ivy and bay.
​
Delicate dragonfly’s iridescent wings like
rainbow beings, flying high in angelic beams;
Dancing with filigree seeds like snowflakes and pearly beads.
Entranced by glistening tears on ‘Old man’s beard’,
Gliding golden speckled skies;
riding the tide of sighs,
Seeking sophorific berries
Juicy as cherries.
Lavender Moon: Artist, Poet and Lover of Nature 
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