A Bed of Flowers

An image

Of the season’s

First daffodils

Brings a lump to

My throat.

A rebirth

That springs from the soil,

A smile to brighten

The winter gloom –

A reminder

That life

Is not


By being within

The earth.

A yellow glow

Suffuses the

stone cross

And the lantern



When the way

Is dark.

Sleep well,

On this

Mothering  Sunday

Your Mother

Brings you flowers…


Season Slip

A surprising burst of autumnal sun
Brings illusions of an early spring…
When winter has still to drape its blanket
On this, our somnolent, land.

Frost bites

Temperatures fall;
Blankets, hot water bottles
Ease the chill.

Learning about Life

The day is one of those, surprisingly
Bold, attempts at a last-ditch summer burst –
Before winter digs its claws in for good.
We go out for a pub lunch along by
The river, it’s a perfect central point.
It’s my Dad’s birthday.

We are joined by his grand-daughter, freshly
Arrived from her biology lesson
And keen to share her new-found knowledge with
The table (and anyone else listening).
After biology…philosophy…
I feel the proud mum.

She invites my Dad (78 today)
To read her essay about abortion
And contraception. Just as well that he
Didn’t get to know about these things before
As he might have been celebrating his
Birthday on his own.

Not sure if I am worried or relieved
That she has thought about things like this…
She is having a ‘few’ friends round for a
Party tomorrow…

The Winter Crone

Winter hovers close –

Reaching tentative fingers,

Leaving icy breath.

Summer Solstice

Three years ago today, I did my first ever solstice camp under the stars. We pitched our tents in a little deserted glade after staggering halfway down an almost inaccessible cliff face. Sitting around the camp-fire, the home-made blackberry whisky added to the relaxed ambiance as we drummed and strummed accompanied by the ethereal dreamtime drone of the didge. The sun got lower in the sky and the fire poi started twirling in the growing darkness, mesmerisingly free from human intervention.

Eventually sleep caught up with most of us and we woke to the fire-smiths packing up their tents – the only ones to have lasted the night with wakefulness. Suddenly from behind a long hedge there appeared some new visitors. A galloping herd of cows stopped short, looking affronted to see their prime pasture stolen by a small tent village. We reluctantly decided that we really ought to rejoin the rest of humanity but it had been an unforgettable celebration of the longest day.

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