As the year waxes and wanes,
as time passes,
light rises and falls.
Life comes and goes,
hearing bird song, then silence.
the world is warm,
but days will shrink and shrivel.
the promise of warmth,
locked in ice,
day lengthens, nights slowly shrink.
North and South
seasons, polar opposites.
Hot in one hemisphere,
cold in the other.
Unless, near the equator,
seasons are less obvious,
No frozen wastes here.
World floating in space,
around Sol, the Sun, our star,
Earth tipped at an angle,
anchored by moon,
held in mutual gravity
Bovisand Bay, painted from life several years ago. Acrylic on canvas. This is what I remember…
The beach at Bovisand.
Warm sand beneath my feet.
Gritty rock, specks sparkle in the sun.
Water laps my feet.
Feet sink into soft sand…
Cove enclosed by cliffs.
Blue sky and tiny clouds.
Close growing plants are sheltered.
Back of the bay, a valley nestles in the hills.
A golden grass snake basks in the heat.
I remember the thunder storm.
Lightening strikes in dark night.
Watching flashes over the sea.
A few years ago painted this morning glory as it flowered. I’d nurtured the plant on a windowledge, carefully watered it. Put it outside when the summer was warm enough so it would stay alive.
It was in a hanging basket outside in the garden when I decided to paint it in situ. As I painted the flower opened and then at the end of the day closed and wilted (the same thing happened with the following days flowers). Hard to capture but beautiful. I might do a copy or similar painting.
Acrylic on canvas. Small flowers are lobelia, and the cream ones are surfinias.
Buds are bursting on the bushes, leaves are slowly unfurling. Each tiny leaflet a herald of coming spring. A few crocuses and snowdrops are out. Rode Halls snowdrop walk, which is an annual event round here, is advertised on Facebook. Life moves on. The water from the storms is soaking the ground, and where there are trees and gardens the water is sucked up to swell the buds. Where there is concrete and bricks it washes down and floods out from the rivers.
The weather is on a knife edge, will it get to hot again this summer? Will we have floods or drought? Will warmth spread through the land gently or will we have fires on heaths and moors and in woods and forests. Our climate is in balance no more. It is up to us to do something to help it fall back into that balance of nature that is gentlest for the world. If we try hard I hope we can.?
I can just about make pottery, and I’ve played with making metal work, but I would love to be able to sculpt stone. Just being able to work out how to produce things in three dimensions would be a difficult challenge.
I can only say I truly admire artists who can do this sort of thing.
Bright poppies shine,
Glow with sun
Grow so red,
Buds stretch and burst.
Dehissance it might be called?
Or is that leaf fall?
Something like that,
There is a word…..
Turgid petals push out and open,
Colour shoots out
￼August at Rudyard lake,
Heat, sunlight, memories of warmth. Memories of the lake and the little narrow gauge (miniature?) railway that runs along side it. I think it’s 18 inch gauge.
The lake surface was very smooth apart from ripples caused by a few rowing boats. We had sandwiches and ice creams at the cafe and caught the train there and back to see how far it was (one of my Dad’s phrases).
I miss the sunlight and the warmth. It’s only two months ago and it’s literally freezing outside tonight. We had frost this morning…. Let me go back into my memories, time travel, back, to summer.