An Easter Sunday morning walk beside the precious mountain stream amongst the carpets of sweet celandine and purple violets at their edge. Peeping shyly, hiding, coy and timid in their beauty. While clumps of primroses, so full and brightly yellow are not the least bit bashful of their hue as they compete with golden daffodils along the river’s bank. While all around is greening and every plant and shrub is budding, simply bursting into life. And all the while the river sings her song and birds join in the chorus as she flows. But I detect a brightness in their tune, a tinkling sound of joyfulness is in their melody, as if they too can tell it’s Spring and they can also see and feel God’s beauty in our midst.
"Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you"
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Along with the hordes, an unusual butterfly flew in the just-opened carriage door of the London tube. A very rare irridescent glasswing butterfly that shone like sunlight on stained glass in colours of blue, green, rusty gold and white. Its effect amongst we travellers was like that of a rainbow on a dullish day.
Enlightened onlookers in the carriage suspected it to be a just-passed soul fluttering by, as they do, to comfort a grieving loved one.
(I knew better).
One lucky lady found a seat. If I was kind I would say she was nondescript but if I was honest I would say she was prim and proper looking, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, sad-eyed and clothes far too drab (a librarian?).
A man stood near to her and looked around with the air of someone who thought himself a wee bit superior. If I was kind I would say he was clean and smartly turned out but if I am to be honest he seemed to me dull and far too fastidious for his own good (an accountant?).
The atmosphere, which had previously been cheerless and dark, grew brighter as glowing sparks from the butterfly started to burn as it landed on the windowpane between the dull accountant and the sad librarian. Their eyes were drawn to it and then to each other and, as they say in books, a smile passed between them. (We psychic ones call it energy).
I knew a passion was ignited in that moment and perhaps (as I have the Gift) only I saw it, but the butterfly was slowly undergoing a metamorphosis and its sparks became flames.
The creature had become a firefly. (My spell had worked).
And then I too had a flash, a flash of the fortune teller, the true sign of a witch,
(It happens a lot).
In their future lives together as man and wife the dull but now happy accountant and the sad but now fulfilled librarian would describe how they met as pure Chance and Chance alone was responsible. (But as I told you, I know better).
Another Paul Henry picture for you (you can just make out the donkey!)
This is a long range photo of an empty cottage taken recently. My kind of place, a very tiny dream cottage perhaps?
Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us and the world will live as one.
John Lennon
No person has the right to rain on your dream
Marian Wright Edelman
Quite by chance and following on from the wish list theme of the previous post, my favourite daughter sent me this poem today.
Hold fast your dreams
Hold fast your dreams! Within your heart Keep one still, secret spot Where dreams may go, And, sheltered so, May thrive and grow Where doubt and fear are not. O keep a place apart, Within your heart, For little dreams to go! Think still of lovely things that are not true. Let wish and magic work at will in you. Be sometimes blind to sorrow. Make believe! Forget the calm that lies In disillusioned eyes. Though we all know that we must die, Yes you and I May walk like gods and be Even now at home in immortality. We see so many ugly things— Deceits and wrongs and quarrelings; We know, alas we know How quickly fade The color in the west, The bloom upon the flower, The bloom upon the breast And youth's blind hour. Yet keep within your heart A place apart Where little dreams may go May thrive and grow.
Hold fast—hold fast your dreams!
Louise Driscoll
That's all for now but before I go I shall leave you with a song, one by the artist I am listening to tonight.
I wanted to post a song on the dream theme but it was very hard as there are so many I like: Jack Savoretti, Fleetwood Mac to name just two but I felt like hearing Roy Orbison's voice again and here is his lovely song.
If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of potential -- for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never.”
Soren Kierkegaard 1813-1855
A Romany Caravan by the Sea
An old red VW Camper Van
Perhaps it is the gypsy in my soul?
If you fancy doing this Meme why not start your own wishlist. Include only wild and/or impractial dreams; try not to write about those too seriously achievable desires.
Start with as many as you like and keep the list tucked away so you can add to it as and whenever. But let me know when you do......
So sorry not to have posted for ages. My computer has been playing up and when it has been working it has been on a go-slow and just at the time I was trying to open another blog to store some of my photos. I have succeeded at last but it has not been without a lot of swearing! I lost the lot at one stage and had to re-post all over again, bit by bit. My patience has been tested!
(Did you not see the smoke rising?)
So I have little to say here today but will return tomorrow. Just wanted to say do go and have a look at the new blog with the original name of Cait's Photos, though it is still 'under construction' as they say in techno-land.
James Guthrie - Another artist I have discovered (Scottish). I found a little print in a charity shop and now it hangs in my study.
And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse Not shaking the grass.
Ezra Pound
Another Friday has hit me and unfortunately I have not blogged since the last one. Life has been a bit hectic but hopefully I will be able to do a few more posts next week. I am also starting another blog where I am going to stick a few of my photos but it is not up and running yet. I have the photography bug at the moment and M and I are going off on little outings with our cameras, He is an excellent photographer with years of experience but I am new to the game.
The Vernal Equinox or First Day of Spring has arrived and as I log on today I am reminded of this by the Google logo and very attractive it is too.
Not that I need much reminding it is Spring as today is a day full of glory, warm sunshine, hardly any wind but a definite air of optimism in the breeze. Lots of folk outside and doing and the birds too are busy as ever - best of all is the fact that the dippers are nesting under the bridge once more. I have been pottering outside myself, perhaps this is my favourite hobby and I am currently enjoying waking up the garden and planning how I am going to dress her this year. Our daffodils are just coming out; they are flowering far later than most areas as we are so behind up here in the hills. I actually bought a bunch of buds the other day and when they opened up their scent flooded the kitchen. I have never come across such smelly daffodils!
There are plenty of lambs around of course and last weekend I took a few snaps of those at my daughter and SIL’s farm. I just missed one being born but did see Mum cleaning her baby. This warm dry weather at lambing time is a blessing for the farmers.
Triplets!
It's going to be a big day tomorrow rugby-wise and as ever I am to be drawn in two directions as Wales are playing Ireland in Cardiff. I guess I won’t mind who wins really, but whoever loses I will feel for. Perhaps I should hope the best team on the day wins, wouldn’t that be the sensible way of looking at it? And I shall enjoy both anthems before the match.
A few quick blessings?
Singing. As when people combine their voices in an anthem, singing together can be an emotional experience. I was reminded of this one when M and I drove two of the granddaughters back home one dark evening this week - a twenty minute drive over the mountains to their farm. My car radio is de-programmed at the moment so we had to make our own music and some of the time the four of us were all singing different songs. (We are a family of eccentrics!). Then we united and sang a few of the old ones ending with the wonderful compositions from Simon and Garfunkel, a few from the Bridge over Troubled Water album. My girls are lucky in that they have grown up in a musical household as did our children and have been introduced to a lot of the ‘old stuff’ (and they love it too). A new (American) author that I was introduced to by my daughter who is reading her for her English degree. Grace Paley. I am hoping to read her Collected Short Stories soon.
The joy of re-discovery..
I have rediscovered one of my own much-loved poetry books Staying Alive, Real Poems for Unreal Times edited by Neil Astley. I heartily recommend it to you as it is crammed chock full of gems. You can open it anywhere and find something special. Here is one where I did just that, the book opened quite by chance at a wonderful poem by an Irish poet born in Cork.
(Oracling is another blessing sometimes).
Swineherd
When all this is over, said the swineherd, I mean to retire, where Nobody will have heard about my special skills And conversation is mainly about the weather.
I intend to learn how to make coffee, at least as well As the Portuguese lay-sister in the kitchen And polish the brass fenders everyday. I want to lie awake at night Listening to cream crawling to the top of the jug And the water laying soft in the cistern.
I want to see an orchard where the trees grow in straight lines And the yellow fox finds shelter between the navy-blue trunks, Where it gets dark early in summer And the apple-blossom is allowed to wither on the bough.
Eilean Ni Chuilleanain
Before I go and also on the theme of Ireland I am sorry not to have posted on St Paddy’s Day. So, a little late, here is a little Irish blessing for you all that I have only just discovered.
The Blessing of Light, Rain and Earth
May the blessing of Light be on you light without and light within. May the blessed sunlight shine on you And warm your heart till it glows Like a great peat fire, so that the stranger may come and warm himself at it and also a friend And may the light shine out of the two eyes of you Like a candle set in the windows of a house Bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.
And may the blessing of the Rain be upon you, the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit so that all the little flowers may spring up And shed their sweetness on the air And may the blessing of the Great Rains be on you May they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean And leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines And sometimes a star.
And may the blessing of the Earth be upon you, the great round earth May you ever have a kindly greeting for them you pass As you're going along the roads May the earth be soft under you when you rest upon it Tire at the end of the day And may it rest easy over you When at the last you lay out under it May it rest so lightly over you That your soul may be out from under it quickly And up, and off, and on its way to God.
I shall have to sign off now; I have places to go and people to see,
A little Breton girl. George Clausen (M's grandmother was one of these and probably around the same era).
I do not seek I find Pablo Picasso
Dear Diary,
It is already Friday again.
I am going to write a few words about the blessings that are New Discoveries and how one discovery can lead to another. The first is a book that led me to an artist by the name of George Clausen. No doubt you have heard of him but I hadn’t - or maybe I had but had forgotten his name (most likely) and no doubt the artist will lead me on to other delights. I will let you know.
The book, which was published in 2001, is Now is the Time by Sister Stanislaus Kennedy and I believe it was a bestseller in Ireland some years ago. I was led to this book via an American-Irish mailing list of which I am a member. I do not live in America but somehow discovered a rather good site for all things Irish that appeal to the Irish diaspora.
As usual I digress. I receive a book list from this American site every so often - new publications - fiction and non-fiction (including poetry!) and all by Irish authors or with an Irish connection somehow. The latest email mentioned a few spiritual books by a woman called Sister Stanislaus Kennedy who grew up on the Dingle peninsula (as did my mother). I looked on Amazon and found a copy going cheap so I sent off for it and it arrived very quickly. I have only just started reading her spiritual reflections but here is a taster, a description of what the book contains.
From the back cover:
Now is the Time became an instant bestseller when it was first published, and in this expanded edition, which includes five new entries, Stan's message remains the same: we have the time, if we make the choice to take time ... Now is the Time is an inspiring book for everyone; young or old, male or female, for the converted or those who are irreligious or plain disaffected. Even people for whom a spiritual view of the world is a closed book should try opening this one. Now is the Time looks beyond the boundaries of any one faith or church and draws on the great spiritual and philosophical traditions of east and west. As Sister Stan focuses on a line of poetry from one of the world's great authors, an idea from a psychotherapist or philosopher, or a proverb from oriental wisdom, she weaves her own thoughts around them in a way that presents them afresh, and allows us to see them from a new perspective. Widely loved as a committed social activist and tireless worker on behalf of people in need, Sister Stan reveals an entirely different side of her nature - the reflective, contemplative and the spiritual – and offers us an inspiring and thought-provoking work of vision.
The book's cover is a beautiful work of art in itself. A painting by, you’ve guessed it, Sir George Clausen. I can only find the tiniest picture of it which you can see above. It is meant to be called the Haymaker but I am not so sure having looked online. It is supposed to be in the Hugh Lane Municipal Gallery in Dublin. I have only been to their National Gallery.
Changing the subject, but keeping the theme of discovery, the rest of this post shows photos I took of a ruined mill not far from here. I have been doing a bit of detective work for someone in the state of Utah, USA, who is researching his family tree. It’s a long story but a borrower of mine was contacted by him as he discovered her email address online (she is secretary of a local history society). She told me how he was drawing a blank on one of the properties on a census return so I got on the case as I happen to live in the same area. Anyway, to cut a long story short, a friend of mine asked someone else and a long-gone property that no-one had been able to find for this man was discovered. I took some photos last weekend and I shall email them to him along with some of the local chapel where he has many relatives buried, some in the 1800’s. No doubt when this man comes to Wales, as he is planning to, there will be a big gathering of the clans as there are still many living in these parts with the same surname!
Before I go here is a poem.
but if a living dance upon dead minds
but if a living dance upon dead minds why,it is love;but at the earliest spear of sun perfectly should disappear moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one name control more incredible splendor than our merely universe, love's also there: and being here imprisoned,tortured here love everywhere exploding maims and blinds (but surely does not forget,perish, sleep cannot be photographed,measured;disdains the trivial labelling of punctual brains... -Who wields a poem huger than the grave? from only Whom shall time no refuge keep though all the weird worlds must be opened?
e e cummings
So that’s all for today. Isn’t the internet wonderful? And aren’t new discoveries exciting as well?
No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves.
Amelia Earhart
Please forgive me as I have blogger’s block today but as I haven’t posted for so long I thought I had better pen just a few words. Perhaps things will improve when the Full Moon is past, I always feel unsettled in the week leading up to it.
Life got in the way as well last week, as it often does but my worries and problems have thankfully dissipated.
So today’s will be a short one as inspiration is hard to find but there will be blessings, pictures and a wee poem of mine that I wrote last week.
Blessings?
Signs of spring that I noted on my walk this morning. Catkins, crocuses, daphne, lungwort, tiny daffodils coming into flower and sunshine that was doing its best to warm me in spite of the bitterness of the cold wind.
My grocery delivery. This is a new venture in these rural parts of Wales. The Asda lorry comes to the door and I am able to order online.
My new heating system is installed and will soon be up and running. Economy 10 should be working on Friday and in the long run we should be spending a lot less on keeping the cottage warm.
Book group tonight which I am looking forward to as I have enjoyed the choice this month. It is Spilling the Beans by Clarissa Dickson-Wright. Although I am not a fan of all her exploits (foxhunting and hare coursing are just two examples) I found her life story a really good read. I am in that state of wanting to find another Good Read to lose myself in and will be away soon to dig one out from the big pile I always have waiting for me.
I always look forward to reading other people’s blogs as well so they are also a blessing. When my ideas run dry I can while away so much time enjoying others who seem never to have such a problem. I have not read any for a while now but I am on the case.
I shall leave you with the little poem.
Mothering
It’s an umbilical cord thing, in the sense that we are connected throughout lifetimes (and beyond) though our babies may have grown and flown and may even now have children of their own. They will come and they will go and each parting is not remotely sweet but rather it is sorrow
The years we held our children close and safe enfolded in our arms seem like a fleeting moment lost in space. And along with pangs of labour and the agonising throes of each ensuing birth, why did no-one ever give us warning of the worry and the yearning and the lifelong pain a mother feels that is the constant tugging at this instrument of love we call the heart
For no reason other than I love cottages and their windows.
An Irish cottage window.
Dear Diary,
“Advocates of capitalism are very apt to appeal to the sacred principles of liberty, which are embodied in one maxim: The fortunate must not be restrained in the exercise of tyranny over the unfortunate”
Bertrand Russell 1872-1890
A short blog today methinks. I could write reams about the fnancial situation, the greed that exists in our society and how money is indeed at the root of most evil. But I won't. Not today anyway.
Just Blessings.
It will soon be World Book Day.
To be honest every day is book day for me. And I like nothing more than discovering a Good Read especially by recommendations from other bibliophiles.. I am in two book groups, one virtual, one at the library.. I also read loads of reviews of course and adore booky blogs.
I shall post some much-loved titles here from time to time so do watch this space. Just for today I will mention The Story of Edgar Sawtelle again. A fantastic book, especially if you are a dog-lover as I am. But you don’t have to be. Just read it.
And talking of just for today (I will not worry) I want to mention Self-Reiki. It is meant to be especially powerful. It certainly works as I had a deep and dreamless sleep last night and it has made me feel quite rested.
I always look forward to new music releases by my favourite artists. I can’t wait to hear U2’s new CD which is out on March 2nd.
Classic TV and radio programmes. Life would be sad without them.
Radio 4, I love it so and did enjoy Desert Island Discs this morning. I hardly ever miss it. Today it was David Walliams and I found it quite revealing. His music, which was like a sound track to his life so far, was full of longing and loss. So many funny, creative souls have their sad, dark and melancholic side don’t they? Coincidentally, the book he chose to take to his desert island was a collection of Philip Larkin’s poems. I featuredthe poem Days by Larkin in my last blogpost.
I also featured the recipe for M's fruit cake in my last posting.
Talking of which, here is the proof:
And now I am off to cut myself a slice and a lump of mature cheddar cheese to go with it. Can anyone recommend a really strong cheddar by the way? We just can't seem to find a good one. I may then curl up with Anita Shreve (Testimony) and a cuppa or two and I may drift off to sleep, who knows? I have to stay up tonight as there is a very important rugby match to watch - Wales are playing France in the Six Nations. Fingers and everything crossed Cymru!
But I shall end with Larkin once more in honour of David Walliams and Desert Island Discs. I shall post my own island record choice as soon as I get aroundtuit (anyone know who sells those?).
Dublinesque
Down stucco sidestreets, Where light is pewter And afternoon mist Brings lights on in shops Above race-guides and rosaries, A funeral passes.
The hearse is ahead, But after there follows A troop of streetwalkers In wide flowered hats, Leg-of-mutton sleeves, And ankle-length dresses.
There is an air of great friendliness, As if they were honouring One they were fond of; Some caper a few steps, Skirts held skilfully (Someone claps time),
And of great sadness also. As they wend away A voice is heard singing Of Kitty, or Katy, As if the name meant once All love, all beauty.
Come out of the circle of time And into the circle of love.
Rumi
Days
What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question Brings the priest and the doctor In their long coats Running over the fields.
Philip Larkin
There is too much time between these blog confessions; too many days have passed and all of them in a flash.
Why does life get in the way? Why does Time go too quickly? How can I slow it down? Suggestions please in the comment box.
Half the morning has gone already as I had a lie-in and didn't wake till nearly ten (but I did stay up late last night, anyway that's my excuse). Then after breakfast I plucked up the energy to phone the electricity board to query a bill. It was a strain but the Scottish lady at SWALEC was very professional, really kind and patient and put up with my poor hearing, my even poorer grasp of anything mathematical and my inability to understand her broad Scots accent. Half an hour later it was all sorted and I received a credit of twenty quid because they had made a cock-up of their (incomprehensible) bill.
I have walked the dogs and promised the garden I will spend more time with it soon as I can. I have writing projects that I must work on. Also I would rather be out taking photos but that will have to wait.
Blessings have taken a back seat lately but I will draw a few out for you today.
I love Mondays and for that reason they will be my first blessing today. For me they are a non-work day and I am usually nicely rested after a Sunday (my favourite day of all). For most folk who work full-time they are something of a dread-day but for me I sometimes feel they are my only 'Me' days as I usually feel free to fill them in whatever way I please.
Snowdrops. They seem to be everywhere and not just in my own garden. Lots of people are posting the most glorious photographs of them and portraying them in such profusion. They make my plants seem relatively few by comparison even though I had been waxing lyrical about their abundance.
I now have an electric blanket and I want to wax lyrical about that too. I had one years ago for a while but I think they must have improved since then. My daughter suggested I treat myself to one as I had been suffering during our recent spell of freezing weather and so I did - to a gorgeous fleecy Morphy Richards one which I bought online. It hasn't been that cold since it arrived but I have been testing it out - indulging myself and switching it on for an hour before I go to bed. It is Absolute Luxury. It's like lying in a warm bath and it must do my spine good. I am sleeping well too.
M's fruit cake will have to be a blessing too. I am tucking in now as I type.
Would you like his (slightly altered) recipe?
The cake is scrummy with a hunk of cheese by the way and so quick to make.
Boiled Fruit Cake a la M.
12 ozs mixed fruit or I prefer just sultanas and a few currants thrown in as I don't like the 'packet' peel 2 Tbs mincemeat 4 ozs brown sugar 4 ozs marge 8 ozs SR flour 2 Tbs mixed spice Quarter pint water 2 beaten eggs - free range of course Half tsp baking powder A little grated lemon peel, orange peel or both.
Put fruit, sugar, marge and spice in a saucepan. Bring to boil and simmer 2 minutes. When cool add 2 beaten eggs and flour.Whack into a non-stick 2lb loaf tin. A piece of greaseproof paper in the bottom helps - grease inside of tin generously.
Bake in middle of oven Gas mark 3 for an hour and a half or so. Cool a while in the tin and turn onto a wire tray.
Like most things this improves with age.
Final blessing? I like to stick to five; must have my five a day.
Simplicity. Doing Without and Giving Up. I am working hard on these and not just for financial reasons. There were never three truer words than Less is More. It is truly liberating to not do something, not buy something, not go somewhere and to Just Say No. Even the home-made cake is part of our changing habits, we are making biscuits again as well and going back to just buying the absolute necessities. Like all of us I am finding that money is not going anywhere and just like time it is disappearing in a flash. I work very hard to earn my meagre salary and although I am lucky to be in employment, albeit part-time, like all workers I feel disheartened. So I am restricting myself spending-wise. I love thrift both the word and the concept (and the plant too!) - perhaps because being thrifty is a challenge and we Arians like nothing more than a challenge. So many things that we are pressurised into feeling that we need or that we must have are really totally unnecessary.
Snowdrops are abundant and popping up in places I have never seen them before. Under hedges and on the grass (by no stretch of imagination can I call it a lawn). Their whiteness seems brighter and their blossoms fuller. M thinks they thrive in the snow, he could be right. There are still odd patches and ribbons of snow on the tops of the hills and mountains, it's amazing how it hangs about isn't it? The two snowmen outside our neighbour's house have shrunk to about a foot high, they are quite a comical sight.
I find a single whiter than white feather in the field, that is the second in two days. I found one on my bedside chair yesterday. Ang passe as they say, another angel has passed by.
It is a pleasure to be outside in the field or the garden. No errands to run today so I can take it easy. I am a little tired as it was Writing Group last night and afterwards we were in the pub till after midnight. I can't seem to do Late Nights any more - not with Early Mornings anyway.
We have homework for writing group and I have done mine already. Guilt made me do it as I have failed to do any recently. I set the subject too. We each chose a word at random from the dictionary and we have to write a piece using all the words which are:
inconsequential, marmalade, calypso, overpowering, loss, offensive and faith.
This is my effort. Marmalade was a bummer I can tell you so forgive me for that rather weak part. Her hair was nearer black to be honest.
Please read the Michael Hartnett poem in my previous blog to see why I tried to do my own interpretation of one particular Irish woman.
Life of an Irishwoman (aka Michael Hartnett)
Ignorant, in the sense her faith became an armour-like protection from overpowering loss.And patient, in the sense she kept her temper lidded. Bereft, in the sense she’d lost her All. Her head, her heart, her health, her kin and certainly all Hope. And lulled, as if by belief, her rhythms though were random, her actions inconsequential.
I loved her from the day I was born.
She was a lively jig, an Irish-soft calypso, No, not for her the funeral’s mournful dirge. Her hair glinted with the colour of Seville oranges. She was not so bitter as their marmalade,but sweet. She was my cradle-song, a tiny infant’s lullaby. She was an orphan, unloved and disconnected. She was spoiling for a fight but with all the wild aggression kept in check. Living on the edge of rile, while all around her was offensive. She was a poem of two worlds, the past and now. She was their hunger and their story writ in blood and tears.
Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart.
~Author Unknown
I am better but it's a really lazy blog tonight, no words from me, just a couple of favourite poems and two pictures.
And a song from Heart, the original was by the late great Roy Orbison of course,God rest him.
First a poem, nothing to do with romance but a lot about Love.
Death of an Irishwoman
Ignorant, in the sense she ate monotonous food and thought the world was flat, and pagan, in the sense she knew the things that moved all night were neither dogs or cats but pucas and darkfaced men she nevertheless had fierce pride. But sentenced in the end to eat thin diminishing porridge in a stone-cold kitchen she clenched her brittle hands around a world she could not understand. I loved her from the day she died.
She was a summer dance at the crossroads. She was a card game where a nose was broken. She was a song that nobody sings. She was a house ransacked by soldiers. She was a language seldom spoken. She was a child's purse, full of useless things.
Michael Hartnett
And in honour of red roses as they are the symbol of Romantic Love, a poem by my much-loved Yeats,
To The Rose Upon The Rood Of Time
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways: Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide; The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed, Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold; And thine own sadness, where of stars, grown old In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea, Sing in their high and lonely melody. Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate, I find under the boughs of love and hate, In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way. Come near, come near, come near - Ah, leave me still A little space for the rose-breath to fill! Lest I no more bear common things that crave; The weak worm hiding down in its small cave, The field-mouse running by me in the grass, And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass; But seek alone to hear the strange things said By God to the bright hearts of those long dead, And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know. Come near; I would, before my time to go, Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
W B Yeats
And finally a song for Valentine's Day, a warning perhaps?
A painting by Helen Allingham, one of my favourite artists.
Dear Diary,
It will be a short blog today as I am not too well at the moment. Serves me right for going out in freezing temperatures, getting cold feet, sitting too long at the computer in a cold room and not tucking my vest in.
I am really frustrated because I want to be out taking photos. Never mind, it's not all bad; Ireland won at rugby today so that is one blessing. Now all I want is Wales to win tomorrow. me of the Divided Loyalties of course. My son-in-law is up in Scotland for the match and our family will be glued to the TV tomorrow afternoon.
Any more blessings? I haven't done any for a while now.
Antibiotics, warm fires, good books and good blogs to read. And sleep...always the best thing.
Here are a few pics for now, some taken before I was stricken.
One of my garden angels
My moon-gazing hare (it will soon be full!)
Two young buzzards desperate for food in this frozen snow
Our dippers on the bridge.
M took these bird ones and through a cottage window so the quality is not great.
The buzzards are young which seems odd at this time of year; they have been hanging about the garden and the bird table eating anything they can. Magpies have also been circling. Both would love a small bird for their supper. But here the buzzards are tucking into some bread.
The dippers have never been seen on the bridge before; perhaps they like its new location? (For those of you who do not know, the bridge 'moved' in our Great Flood last year - amazing photos of which can be seen in a previous blog).
Usually the dippers watch and wait at the edge of the river and dive in and swim to catch fish. Wonderful to observe. We are very lucky to have them nesting really close by as they are quite rare and can only be found in unpolluted waters.
I will sign off now but leave you with a poem by Langston Hughes. It is called Dreams.
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.
This is homework for Purplecoo, I don't always get around to doing it, (I am such a bad pupil) but I could not resist this task which was to choose five favourite paintings.
It was so very very hard to choose just five. I love so many. It is a bit like being asked to choose a favourite author or a favourite book (that is also impossible).
My cottage is full of pictures, a lot feature rural scenes and/or children funnily enough, many have cottages in them.
The first, 'There's Always Tomorrow' by Betsy Cameron is a current favourite. I have crazes for images in the same way as I do for songs. I seem to go for 'back view' images of people, I like photos of back views too; I feel they have more to say somehow.
The second one, Flowers on the Windowsill is by Carl Larsson of course. I adore all his paintings.
The last three are by Paul Henry. Blasket Island, The Watcher (another back view) and Achill Head. I could have posted five or even all of Paul Henry's pictures but that would maybe have been a bit boring for you. If I ever won the lottery I would love to own one or two of his.
The current header picture by the way is Frances MacDonald McNair's Girl and Butterflies
Well I hope you like them. I will post a few more of my much-loved in future, maybe one at a time when I blog.
Surprise blossom in the optimistically-named gravel garden
A view downstream
My first black and white - the marshy area in the field.
I call it the pond and it is Kitty's favourite place to splosh in as she loves water whatever the season. It's a large sunken area on the site of an old Roman Road and it is said the area was dug out and the roadstone removed many years ago.
Just a drop of white magic in the snow
That's all for now folks. I have to choose five favourite paintings for Purplecoo homework and will post these some time soon.
