Lugnasadh - the day of first harvestings
Even now, the season has changed;
The bread sheaf of thanksgiving
turns its face toward Solstice
…and a Partridge in a Pear tree…
Posted at 05:24 PM | Permalink
The chaos of the jumbled potting shed
items thrown in to keep them dry
but the door left open -
a refuge for roosting birds
Posted at 06:07 PM | Permalink
Overwintered seedlings, now eager for the light
flailing their leaves towards the watery sun;
pale precursors of their bursting purple future.
Posted at 12:53 PM | Permalink
Full fluffed feathers
against the winter cold;
Peck, peck - look
Peck, peck - look
Hanging on for dear life;
Alert, always, to danger
...especially when feasting.
Posted at 03:22 PM | Permalink
Battered, broken and torn
discarded in the bottom of a box.
Fingerprints, droplets, stains;
its reason for being
smeared over its body.
Give it a decent burial?
No - there's life in the old book yet.
Posted at 07:23 PM | Permalink
Squelching to the compost bin
through old and rotting leaves around its base.
Suddenly, between the toes...
cold and creeping wetness;
a lurking hole in the sole of my shoe.
Posted at 02:13 PM | Permalink
Along the mundane pathway of the weekly shopping trail,
turning a corner, regaled with singing colour -
uplifted from the greyness of the traipsing chore in hand.
Posted at 05:48 PM | Permalink
Pasted in the corner of an old journal
touring Europe, 1883).
On the pages written in Venice -
this contemporary newspaper clipping.
No euphemisms here
in the search for a solution!
Posted at 06:58 PM | Permalink
Not a Yellow Brick Road
but a bark chipping pathway,
leading me down
past the naked new fence.
waiting clothing with climbers -
I avert my eyes!
Posted at 12:45 PM | Permalink
Blooms of dessication in the winter garden
Flowering death - enshrouding life
(Jerusalem Sage )
Posted at 03:58 PM | Permalink
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