An Enchanted Place
discover a magical world
View Through the Mist
a new era dawns in a haze
of fear and uncertainty
the world’s potential veiled
by hatred’s profitability
I actually wrote this poem on New Year’s Day, when I headed out for an early walk despite it being dull, overcast, and uninspiring for photography. These pictures, on the other hand, were all taken earlier this week, when we had two beautifully foggy days. I didn’t have the opportunity to do anything more than snap a few pictures from the roadside on route to work, but at least I managed to do that!
Keepsake
echoes of years passed
in fleeting moments of
remembered joy
and heartache
decoupaged upon skin
in earthly keepsakes to carry
into eternity’s embrace
A Place of Dreams and Magic
discover a hidden place
of half remembered tales
and adventures
*
a place that bears echoes
from long summer days spent
in the sun
picking flowers and
scrabbling through hedgerows
with dirt under fingernails
and dungaree knees
torn and patched and stained
*
a place that whispers
of a time
when days passed by in
a haze of carefree exuberance
spent chattering with the plants
and the trees
and the fae creatures
to be found among them
*
a place that sparks a
connection
thought lost amidst the
stresses of society’s expectations
but held preserved
deep within
by a crystalline coccoon
of pure magic
*
it is a place that simply
awaits an innocent mind
ready to dream again
When this poem was originally posted on my Instagram it was only six lines long. I only intended to play around with a couple of the words before posting it on here…
Here’s the original:
discover a hidden place of
half remembered tales long
since lost to the haze of
childhood held preserved in
purest magic as it awaits the
chance to dream again
Here are some more pictures from my last visit to the meadow, woodland and stream.
To Walk Through Autumn
follow a path through the
debris of Summer’s sun-
kissed indulgences, treading
scattered seeds into fertile
earth as you head towards
the clarity promised by
Winter’s chill, and the fresh
shoots of wild possibility
that wait to unfurl beyond
Wisdom of the Crone
for mine
will be the wisdom
of the Crone
*
she who walks the
hedge lines and liminal
spaces with back bowed
and bare feet rooted
*
custodian of the
secrets of the earth she
is at one with crooked trees
and lurking spirits
*
gathering winter’s
fears in forage she brews
ancestral knowledge
into potent form
*
yes mine
will be the wisdom
of the Crone
I wrote this poem earlier this year, when my back was particularly painful and it was looking unlikely to improve any time soon. I’m only just heading into middle age but suddenly I felt old. Instead of railing impotently against a largely unchangeable situation or letting myself sink into an apathetic depression, I set my mind to making the most of it and accepting the physical limitations that an ageing body inevitably brings. I didn’t let it stop me. I continued out on my walks, even when I could barely hobble along at a snail’s pace, and, fortunately, things did start to get better. I’m still slow and hobbley, but I’m far better now than I was, and, hopefully, things will continue to improve.
One walk I did very rarely when I was at my worst was out along the Viking Way, a footpath that passes through my village. On one memorable occasion, when I’d thought myself to be having a good day, what should have been little more than a half hour walk ended up taking me several very painful hours when a nasty spasm hit me when I was up on the path. After that I tried to only walk in places also accessible by car in case I needed to call for a lift.
Earlier this week I made my way there again, and the pictures that I’ve paired with the poem were taken then. Talk of the Crone really has to be paired with wintry shots. It was the morning of the coldest day of the year so far and it began with a beautiful frost. I didn’t go too far along (just in case) but it was far enough to snap some pictures.
Washed Clean
bathe in autumnal rains until
old worries and fears and
concerns tumble free in swirls
of green and gold and russet
tones baring branches to wild
skies whilst roots delve deep
in search of secret truths
Yesterday, I spent some time with an autumn leaf.
Yes, it’s the leaf that Hex brought me.
CB&W: The Kitten and the Leaf
Mr Geoffrey Cat likes to bring me dead mice and birds. My kitten, Hex, brings me leaves. I definitely prefer the leaves.
This post is for Cee’s Black and White Challenge.
This week’s theme is anything beginning with the letters K or L. It’s been a while since I last joined in with a challenge like this, but I had the perfect set of pictures for these two letters. I give you, the kitten and the leaf.
Here are a few more recent pictures of Hex amongst the leaves – and amongst the gravestones in the churchyard behind my house.
Hex is the newest member of our family. He’s now nearly 23 weeks old and has lived with us since late August. For some reason I’ve not yet posted a single picture of him here on my blog. Bizarre. Hopefully this post will make up for that!
Here are a few more pictures of him looking cute.
And here are a few other pictures that show him as the cheeky demon-cat he is the rest of the time.
And on that note, I’ll leave you with a final picture that, while blurry, demonstrates just how well (as in, not at all) he and Geoff are getting on…
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