Staying at home, walking on local footpaths and bridleways, enjoying quietude.

Staying at home, walking on local footpaths and bridleways, enjoying quietude.

Secret path

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.

Early bluebells

It was so exciting to see these early Bluebells in an ancient woodland.

Usually my poetry tends to be freeverse however in one of my notebooks I came across an example of a ‘Rectum refrain and decided to write my Early Blue bell poem using the Rectum refrain style.

So basically a poem written in the above style should have 10 lines. The first line contains one syllable only, the second 2 syllables and so on. However line 10 should contain a combination of lines 1-4 thus making 10 syllables. No rhyming!

It was a challenge. I hope I got it right! However producing a poem about the experience I had of that walk, coming across the wood and Hawthorn blossom and using my senses and imagination, was far more important to me. I hope you enjoy it.

Early Bluebells

Blue,

Blue bells.

Blue bells shake.

Chilly winds wake,

Woodland creatures hide.

Twigs, new shoots lime green, fresh.

Blossom pure, delicate, intense

Hawthorn spike in dark hollows shine

Glassy eyed rabbits shy waiting. Still.

Blue blue bells blue bells shake chilly -winds wake

Cowslip bells

Mellow yellow

Cowslip ‘bells’

Jingling in scented meadows

And musty dells; amongst

Salty springy mosses.

A distant lark flutters;

The ethereal song mingling

With chimes from the sacred

Woodland.

Wild, windy walk

I am walking through the tree line avenues protected from roaring warning winds.

Brittle branches are torn away landing like arrows ripping into the land’s heart.

Leaves dive and dart, grasses like babbling streams.

Leaning into an old gnarled tree, I look high into the patterns made by silhouettes of leaves.

What will I dream of…

Glorious bees

Glorious bees

Glorious bees thrive on electric blue filament like petals,

Glowing in a golden sea of pollen.

This wonderful structured plant, Cynara, like a giant artichoke has electric blue petals, however morning light and exposure has made them purple!

After a long period of very hot weather for the UK, the garden has welcomed rain and a cooler period, as I have deadheaded and weeded I have noticed bees and butterflies more often. My lawn is the colour of straw and probably won’t recover this summer.

I hope you are having a god day. Apologies for my go slow blogging at the moment due to disruption in routine as the builders have been at home. The resulting conservatory needs decorating and furnishing but has brought so much light inside the cottage, and I can enjoy changing weather, sunrises and sunsets as well as starry nights from inside!

Soothing shade

 

Whispering tones ,

Ancient trees:

Parched shredded tomes:

Weathered doors moan,

Leaning

Golden patterns

Breathing shadows .

Sifted shifting soothing,

Cirrus,

Sapphire blue hue.

Lingering in a woodland on a sultry spring day

https://lavendermoongirlsbrownharecottage.wordpress.com/

Please click on the link to read my poem inspired by my recent ramble.

I hope you enjoy my post. The weather has been warm so we’ve been exploring our woodland pathways. As ever, I am inspired so much by my walkhs in the surrounding countryside whilst enjoying the company of my dogs; sometimes joined by my husband and friends.

White pillows

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.

Winter finds

Winter lakeside:

Grey pools binding

With silver speckled rinds;

Threads and reeds surfing

Across leafy waves,

Warmed by gentle waves.

Winter is hanging on, but I like its inky beauty and sparkling surprises.