Daffodils and a Poem

Dear Diary,




It’s only a short one, don’t worry. A sort of follow-on from yesterday's really.

It’s just that listening to Woman’s Hour this morning has inspired me to write another blog again today. They were discussing blogs and bloggers but I only caught half of the interview with one of these women bloggers. Her blog is called Petite Anglais and she seems to have produced a book deal from hers, good luck to her.

After Woman’s Hour finished I was keen to get to the keyboard as I wanted to show you my two Mother’s Day presents, firstly what seemed like hundreds of daffodils from my son S and a Carol Ann Duffy poem from my daughter V. V does write beautiful poems herself, but this one of Duffy’s was well chosen and full of meaning for me.



A Child’s Sleep

I stood at the edge of my child’s sleep
hearing her breathe;
although I could not enter there.
I could not leave.

Her sleep was a small wood,
perfumed with flowers;
dark, peaceful, sacred,
acred in hours.

And she was the spirit that lived
in the heart of such woods;
without time, without history,
wordlessly good,

I spoke her name, a pebble dropped
in the still night
and saw her stir, both open palms
cupping their soft light;

then went to the window. The greater
dark outside the room
gazed back, maternal, wise
with its face of moon.

Carol Ann Duffy



But first this morning I had to go round spreading out those daffodils, S has given me so many





there are enough for nearly every room in the cottage. The colour yellow is uplifting of the spirit and is M’s favourite hue; it is also the antidote to depression and the colour of sunlight, there must be a link there. Let’s hope its bright glare will scare away and dissolve the blackness of the Black Dog that seems to be living in so many people’s homes and hearts at the moment (not mine luckily). If he calls by here I will beat him with a Big Stick for sure.

So before I sit down to write I flit round with the hoover and steadfastly ignore the freshly illuminated dust that is everywhere to be seen on the higher levels in the cottage. Having two real fires, the ancient Rayburn and the woodburner makes for a lot of dust around. But today I just about show willing where chores are concerned.

The yellow sun is calling me from outside so the dogs and I go over the rickety-rackety bridge to the field and as I walk I watch them race round and round. I get such vicarious pleasure watching them do this, especially as Finn our gorgeous honey coloured lurcher is now eleven years old. I will try and post a pic. of him.

The wind is bitterly cold though and I don’t feel like lingering outside. As we make our way back the snow starts falling.
I love snow but don’t hold out much hope for much of a covering.

So indoors I go, a mug of hot lemon and ginger tea is called for and then I am free at last to escape upstairs to the little study and pen a few words. Molly, my white cat is on my lap, she loves to watch the mouse dart around on the screen! She is fine even though has a nasty wound on her neck, a bite from some creature or other, it could be a rat, a mink or polecat

I will sign off now, this was not meant to be a long account but I look forward to being with you again soon.

Hope you liked the poem and the flowers.

I am well into colour therapy and so in my mind I am sending you all lots of Welsh daffodils with all their magical yellowness.

May your spirits be lifted too.


Go mbeannai Dia duit
Caitx