In the presence of trees


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.

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Golden moments


Golden moments:

Crisp early morning walks

Bathed in energising light,

Playful companionship,

Remembered paths.

Stag in a magical woodland


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I have been walking alot through woodlands lately, enjoying the amazing light filtering through the trees and the warm copper hues of the fallen leaves. A couple of times I have spotted deer running startled by the dogs. I love them, they are magical creatures and have inspired me to draw and paint this scene of the stag in a magical woodland. I hope you enjoy it. Have a great weekend. ๐Ÿ™‚

First frost breathes…


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First frost breathes through crystalline teeth,

 Steeping brightly hued blooms into a moon dipped

Weeping sleep.

I look down the garden now at the damp brown rotting garden and remember the warm days filled with summer fresh scents; butterflies and bees everywhere. Then came the first frost, it was such a shock but turned the garden into a magical place, frozen and beautiful. I am so grateful for nature. As the garden lies sleeping,  I enjoy every day as a different day. I can see the birds hopping about and the gentle mellow yellow sunshine through watery leaves. 

Rambling in the Fairy wood


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In the Fairy Wood a cool wind sings

Songs of summer past: Larks and cherry blossoms

Rambling roses for fairy posies.

Speckled yellow, ruby and rust leaves swirl,

Crunching under toes.

Dappled light, warm and bright Iilluminates

 faces of forest mythological creatures,

A shadow show emerging; tree nymphs, Boris the troll

And frolocking fairies.

Brooding skies like galloping waves, 

Tallow mallow ggiant’s fists!

Twisters suck up golden mists.

Poppy walk


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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!

Musing…


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Tracing grooves in ancient oak bark

With tingling fingers, soothed; 

Sheltered in the wings of strong silent boughs.

Wooed by whispering tales from distant shores.

Amber acorns break onto fresh  fallen crushed leaves

Seeding under misted mosses and musty funghi

Where stories weave. 

Challenging the poet with Prose


Is writing my poetry blog a deliberate distraction from the challenge to write a novel in a month?

Or…

Is the act of writing and rambling a way of getting the creative juices going?

I have had the main characters in my novel swirling about in my brain for a couple of years, may be longer. When I’m walking with the dogs, watching them and noticing the changing cloud formations or ripples on water, I can zone in on the action of the novel and what the characters are feeling and thinking. When I stop and feel close up to nature, my world reverts to poetry.

I find at first light I greet the day with my cup of coffee and pen poised to write about 1800-2000 words. My husband has gone out to work, the dogs are stretched out on the sofa. I love the quietitude. If it is calm and silent, my felt tip fibre pen takes off. I know this novel won’t be perfect because if I was using the language of poetry, it would probably take me the rest of my years to finish the first draft. I’m just letting the innocence of the novel flow and see where it ends.

For the Nanowrimo website I created a quick cover design and thought of a title: this may change.

I will always be a nature poet and photographer who writes the occasional ย novel. Even the genre is a ย tricky one. I don’t want to restrict myself.

Writing is freedom.


Synopsis to follow. Thank you for reading my friends.

Delicate Dragonfly


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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.