Marcel Dyf - Village of Kerjouanao,France.
It seems too long since my last posting; life has been rather busy again. It is late at night so for now I am just going to post a poem I love and a couple of pics.
Winter Landscape - Breon O'Casey
The Breon O’ Casey pic is the sort of thing I would paint (if I could paint). I am hopeless at art and can’t even draw stick men but I have often been tempted to paint abstracts in blocks of colour. Finding this picture was strange because I have wanted to do something similar and I would have started with blues.
I have really enjoyed The Secret Life of Bees, it almost made me want to take up beekeeping., I am waiting for the DVD now but I am sure I will be disappointed. Books and films are never the same but then a book is a book and a film is a film and I guess we should not compare them. The style of writing of the Bees reminded me a little of Joanne Harris and of her book Chocolat, I don’t know why. I had to have a big mug of hot chocolate close by when I read that one - an essential accompaniment such was the book’s chocolatey-ness|! The film was very disappointing though.
We have hedgehogs nesting close by and a young one was outside the back door last night. I have been hearing that they are becoming rare and I must admit I hardly ever see them on the roads now so I was overjoyed to see our visitor.
The dry weather continues and we see the sun every day.
We light the woodburner in the evenings though and I almost look forward to winter and to dreams of cosy hibernation.
Sunday tomorrow, my favourite day of the week.
I promised you the poem,
Love after Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
That will do for now, my bed is calling,
Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,