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 has been a wet, autumnal day. I set off this morning with my dogs through a local woodland. It was dark and dripping raindrops which splattered on the leaf mold and moss filled floor. I could see beauty in tiny pools of water collected in large leaves which reflected the tree canopy and the charcoal sky: the woodland creaked and spoke to me of the year so far. The ancient trees, bark toughened, branches gnarled, split and hanging low over the path. The people I met were enjoying their rainy walks too, we were all out there enjoying the elements, exploring our day.
Later this afternoon, I left my husband decorating and headed down the garden to my Studio. I knew I would paint one of the old trees I’d seen and love in all weathers. I’m not sure if it’s finished yet. Tomorrow I will see my watercolour in the morning light! The watercolour sketch on the right I did a while ago. Another oak tree I see regularly and enjoy its presence.
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.
Shoots produding,
Shiny Buds swelling,
Pussy willow a silver sensation!
Petals waxy, honey sweet.
Catkins like knitted fingers;
Golden rays warming
Our hearts on cold days;
Midsummer meadows cheers our hearts.
Bees reeling in floppy poppies,
Quaint corn cockles and radiant daisies jostle with lazy scabious
Lofty butterflies surf the breeze filled with meadowsweet mist.
Wishing seeds glimmer in honeyed rays,
Teazels sentinels of the fields, guard the wildflower maze.
Haystacks rest on dusty fields waiting for midsummer to heal.
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Enjoy midummer days and long warm evenings.
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Sunny morning,
Swifts soaring;
Dog rose scented air.
Maiden’s garlands,
wedding bells afar.
Harebells & summer fairs
Dancing campions,
Wild flower champion
The scarlet poppy!
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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.
I dream about being in a bluebell woodland,
Morning’s dampness on my hands.
I find a torn seam in elemental’s veil;
Ask to enter the precious trail.
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Bare toes tickling on grassy moss,
Nose wrinkling as plumes of bluebells waft;
Lost in a deep purple blue lake,
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Looking at the shapes the old oak makes,
Their wizened branches seeking light,
Orange tip butterflies flee with all their might!
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Woodland’s serenade fades gently like a breeze;
I take a sip of Titania’s tea,
Finding myself mixing a pool of morning dew
With soothing dainty hues from the bluebell wood
on my watercolour palette ready for a new painting to emerge.
Rapeseed replenishes,
Energises.
Clouds of buttery yellow billow;
Brimstones and Commas drenched
In honeyed pollen,
Wings tilting elegantly
Dancing in sunshine.
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Unfortunately those gorgeous delicate butterflies won’t linger long enough! But it is wonderful to watch them.
Rapeseed oil I hear is very good for us, especially if it is cold pressed. It can help painful joints.
Happy Easter all! 🙂
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!
Lavender Moon: Artist, Poet and Lover of Nature 
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