Ur-walks interrupted: Can I Have My Life Back, Please?

Can I Have My Life Back, Please?

Thoughts of recreating my earliest walk in prose this week repeatedly dashed by events.

Church Fete on Saturday, which I convene, then the Gala started on Sunday and that lasts all week (personal highlight - Pet Show on Thursday - can we regain the Dalgonar Cup?), today was School Sports Day and I still have to fit in work and ensuring the two youngest are loved, stimulated, homeworked, clothed and .... well, fed. And a trip to a wholesale flower market (best not to ask right now). And I'm taking the boys away for a week on a "Mums and children" holiday as soon as school breaks up (4 mothers, 9 children under 7 years - which Dante would you choose?). Just realised we don't even own a pair of sandals for the boys as yet. The car needs two new tyres and an MOT. I do not function well over 70 degrees F and the thermometer in the boys' room is reading 31 degrees C and and and ....

At times like this "Desiderata" is never going to be enough.

So I turn to Marianne Moore, and this is.


The Paper Nautilus

For authorities whose hopes
are shaped by mercenaries?
Writers entrapped by
teatime fame and by
commuters' comforts? Not for these
the paper nautilus
constructs her thin glass shell.

Giving her perishable
souvenir of hope, a dull
white outside and smooth-
edged inner surface
glossy as the sea, the watchful
maker of it guards it
day and night; she scarcely

eats until the eggs are hatched.
Buried eight-fold in her eight
arms, for she is in
a sense a devil-
fish, her glass ram'shorn-cradled freight
is hid but is not crushed;
as Hercules, bitten

by a crab loyal to the hydra,
was hindered to succeed,
the intensively
watched eggs coming from
the shell free it when they are freed,--
leaving its wasp-nest flaws
of white on white, and close-

laid Ionic chiton-folds
like the lines in the mane of
a Parthenon horse,
round which the arms had
wound themselves as if they knew love
is the only fortress
strong enough to trust to.

Had a bit of Kipling too, because we had quite a lot of triumph and disaster at Sports Day. Well, it is the Nation's Favourite Poem, isn't it?

Not so good in the Potato Race - competing with each other not to be last.

Shining falling star in the Sack Race - first place for one of them (= disaster for other).

Why is it so hot?

Mellow Yellow Monday - White Flowers with Yellow Center

To see more Mellow Yellow Monday participants, go here: Mellow Yellow Monday

Camera Critters - Bird on Feeder

To see more of Camera Critters hosted by Misty, go here: http://camera-critters.blogspot.com/

My First Fireflies

Rejoice, all ye faithful. She has returned.

And all of a sudden
I cannot see their faces anymore.
Though I can still tell them apart
By the sound of their laughs.

Treacherous ink has leaked
From the dying sky
Into the silent waters of the lake
And has smudged the trees
Into shapelessness.

From inside the sightless blue,
Some people we can no longer see
Are strumming a happy song.
One of us lights a match.

And we notice that
A nightful of jaded specters
Have turned into glowing cigarette ends
Hovering up
And down
And up.

This is when they come.
One.
Then two.
Then some more.
Till the tar is speckled
With tiny flying children
Holding lanterns,
Rushing out to play.

And finally,
Four weary delinquents
Get down to the serious business
Of making a plan for tonight,
In the shower of fireflies.

This is for Anik, Joy and Hasi, in memory of a deliciously lazy evening.
Photograph- The Lake, Kolkata.
Its good to be back.

Ur-walks interrupted: The Unexpected Visitor

The Unexpected Visitor

Today the phone rang at 8.00 am. Not usual. I had only had one cup of tea and one cigarette, so in my semi-comatose state I answered, only to be exorted by my next door neighbour to "Get the boys to the window! There's something in my garden."
Needing no further explanation (Mary is not a woman who trifles) we did, and there was. The something was a peacock, not the most usual form of birdlife around here. I believe they are an Asian fowl.

After several minutes of regarding, there began the speculation, "Whose?"

After 9.00 am, having delivered the children to school, the street was already busy with sightseers, one of whom had presciently brought her camcorder.

And the speculation was continuing. The local vet had been contacted, who suggested ringing the local agricultural college (which is 20 miles away). The local agricultural college was closed, and the anwer machine suggested phoning the local vet. The local Scottish Baronial Residence denied all knowledge. And so did the Duke of Buccleuch, or at least, his agent did.
And still they came, to see the fabled bird in Mary's garden.
Someone said they knew someone who knew someone that had a peacock near Dunscore and that it had got away, but that was probably about 5 years ago. We looked at the bird before us. It had already refused both cornflakes and bread, and did not have a look about it that suggested 5 years of rough foraging. It did consent to sipping some iced water, regally, however.

Some genius suggested contacting the school and after a survey of each class the peacock's household was found.

Which left the catching of the peacock. The owner arrived with a net, which I glanced at and surmised was possibly trout-sized. I had seen the peacock. This man owned the peacock. He must, I thought, know something I don't.

Well, yes he did. It wasn't a young male peacock at all (my explanation for the lack of tail), but a peahen.

My surmise about the net was correct, however. It took 8 back gardens and approximately 7 hours to finally secure her.

She is home now, and locked up. The peacock is said to be delighted.

Here is short poem by Thomas Love Peacock, to make this post seem more interesting than it actually was.

Instead of Sitting Wrapped up in Flannel

Instead of sitting wrapped up in flannel

With rheumatism in every joint,

I wish I was in the English Channel,

Just going 'round the Lizard Point

All southward bound, with the seas before me,

I should not care whether smooth or rough,

For then no visitors would call to bore me,

Of whose 'good-mornings' I have had enough.

Sky Watch Friday - Sail Away

I took this photo of this sail boat in Maine a couple of years ago. The poem is one that my sister wrote. I just changed the photo to black and white and put the poem on top of the photo. Just playing around with it.


Maine is well known for their light houses. I took this photo while I was there.


I have to get out and get some more skywatch photos.

To see more participants of Sky Watch Friday go here: http://skyley.blogspot.com/

Picture Journey: Ur-walk 1, Not Mine.

How do people manage to do picture blogs? This has taken me over an hour, and I still can't get the spacing right. Anyway, here we go.

This blogging lark is interesting. It's leading me to read and do things I would not have read or done otherwise. And I'm liking that stretch.
The other day at The Solitary Walker, http://solitary-walker.blogspot.com/ I read his post on the ur-walk, which he describes as "... the first walk, the original walk, the walk which all later walks try to recapture in spirit. It's the walk which is the beginning and end of all walks." He is detailing this walk in subsequent posts at the moment.

And I thought of my own ur-walk, and because I am a child of the town mine has utterly vanished. I think it is the townscapes that change most with each generation, particularly in the ever-developing south-east. So I shall have to write my ur-walk, for I only have words to conjure it with.
Which obviously takes time. But today I went on one of my daily walks with a camera, as I suspect it may be Titus' ur-walk and quite possibly may end up being my youngest childrens' (they do it enough!).
Excuse all the lack of botanical knowledge and country lore, and I'll try to let the pictures tell the story. Me? I just live here, heart yearning for the smell, smoke and shout of the city. This is my man's ancestral land. Coincidentally, it's his birthday today.




Leaving the village, with Marr Burn on the left, just trickling today to meet the Scaur.


















And then crossing the Scaur, over a very lovely sandstone bridge.























Now onto the Keir Road, and passing the dark path.












Passing Byreholm, the road to Keir continues.













Byreholm residents.











Keir Smithy, birthplace of Kirkpatrick Macmillan.
The view to the left as you walk towards Keir. Geography "A" Level tells me here be drumlins.
On entering the village of Keir, you take a sharp left, and then have to descend back down to river level.

Leaving Keir.

Then you are back at the Scaur, and here is the metal bridge where you can test your mettle by walking over the curved bit from one side to the other. Easiest with bare feet, although not on a hot day. And never in front of the children.

But you don't cross the bridge on this walk, instead you take a sharp left, down onto the river path, then cross a little wooden bridge over a tiny tributary.

And this is the river path.

At places you can get down to the river. And the dog can drink.

And the path continues, and the sounds are the river, birdsong, and buzzing.

At the end of the river path, you are back at the sandstone bridge, which you cross the opposite way to get home.

This is probably most photographed view in the village, and I know the sun's in the wrong place, or I am, but I like the silhouettes.

So my thanks to The Solitary Walker for making me think and look, just a little bit harder.

And apologies for the spacing, but I was rapidly losing the will to live.

ABC Wed. - "W" = Wagon Wheel

Today is ABC Wed. and the letter "W" for Wagon Wheel.

To see more ABC Wed. participants, go here: http://mrsnesbittsplace.blogspot.com/

Immigrant Song

Immigrant Song

I may not dare to breathe your air,
Your air that is not mine;
I do not care to breathe your air,
And cannot drink your wine.

Yes, we fought in ages past:
Ages past are gone.
I may not dare to breathe your air
So dream the air of home.

Mellow Yellow Monday - Popcorn

Today is Mellow Yellow Monday. I took this photo of the popcorn by getting on the inside of the bag. As you can see there is lots of butter on this. I don't care for popcorn but my grandson loves it. I wanted to get a photo of something different for today.

To see more Mellow Yellow Monday participants, go here: Mellow Yellow Monday

Neato project 3: P.S.

P.S.

I have been helping out at primary school with "Golden Time", which is an half-hour reward period on Fridays when the children can choose to do what they want from a variety of activities. I usually do storytelling. This term, rather ambitiously, I opted to offer "Write, illustrate and publish a book".

It was with enormous pleasure, tinged with quite a lot of relief, that in school assembly on Friday I presented each of the children with their own copy of the completed anthology.

The children did virtually everthing - from writing and drawing the content (or choosing the clipart) to the cover artwork and design and deciding the title, "P.S."

I was ably assisted by another mother during the sessions, and yet another "volunteered" to do the proof-reading. The final book contained stories about such diverse, though possibly expected, subjects as a horse, a fairy, unicorns and Sir Galahad, though the "Fashion Pup" was a surprise. There were also poems, "Spot the animal" pages and some life writing.

It was hard work, but the look on each child's face as they received their book was unmissable.

Here's the front cover:


And here is a little selection from the anthology, reproduced with authorial and parental permission.

Amazing!

Amazing, amazing maths!
Amazing, amazing me!
Amazing, amazing stupidness!
Amazing, amazing me!

Saw

She cut a piece of wood
And nearly cut her finger off.
What an accident!

A short extract from "Galahad's Destiny".

A wizard comes to see Galahad, to tell him that trouble is coming and someone is trying to kill him.
The wizard asks Galahad, “Is there anything you would like me to do?”
Galahad says, “Yes, I would like my sword attached to my arm. It’s so I can do tricks and moves for the great desert battle. Do you know how the Shadow Knight is?”
The wizard replied, “Yes, he’s my evil sister’s warrior.”
“Who is your sister?” asked Galahad.
“She’s an evil witch, Felon is her name. I am Howgfo, a wizard that travels all around the world finding warriors to give gifts to, but only to brave ones. Now, bye, brave fellow!”

And here's the back cover.

The childrens' ages ranged from 6 to 9 years.

Neato Project 2

For introduction, see post below. If you can't be bothered to read it, I'm trying to do haiku.

So much I didn't know! Season-word, lightness, balance, opposition, the way.

So had another crack. And it's an opportunity to show some more of Elizabeth Waugh's sculptures.

Ride a Cock Horse I

Carefully balanced
on the form horse now rising
she looks for her way.

Sunbather

A noon-high sun shines
in the middle of summer
on bronze cushion skin.

Turning Hare

Hare stilled at the point
of changing his meadow course
in cool shifting sun.

And my favourite,

Autumn Grizzly

He watches a leaf
as it falls from the maple
and senses his sleep.

Camera Critters - Alpacas

Spring Run Mini-Golf course opened up again after it was closed a few years. It's in Pleasant Gap, PA, only about 5 minutes from Bellefonte. I posted a photo of the mini golf course for Sky Watch Friday. (see below) These Alpacas were shaven. They have long hair which you can see at the site I provided if you want to learn more about them.


Here's a site to learn all about Alpacas

To see more of Camera Critters hosted by Misty, go here: http://camera-critters.blogspot.com/

If your here to see Pet Pride meme, go here to my other blog... Barb's blog

Neato project

I know there are a variety of views out there about the Value of Writing Groups, but I am lucky enough to be involved with one that puts up with me only managing to make a meeting or two a year. Got to my second of 2009 today, and how's this for a neato project.

Elizabeth Waugh, the sculptor, is 80 this year and as a celebration of her birthday, life and work an installation thingy is being created for the Wigtown Festival called "Words and Bronze".

Here's one of her bronzes, so you're with me so far.

More of her work can be seen at her website, http://www.elizabethwaugh.co.uk/body_index.html

Now, having come about three months late to the project, what's still required are some haikus to be etched onto frosted glass to hang at the windows of the installation space (Tate Modern phrase there). I have never written a haiku, and would never have had the inclination to write one had I not gone to the meeting. But I did, so I have, and there is the Value of Writing Groups to me. They make you step outside a little.

No idea if they're any good, but first a kind of general one.

The elemental
copper and tin here conjured
by her fire to breath.

Then one in response to this bronze, Dreamer

A dreaming woman
who reveals herself only
if we can still dream.

Neither of which I find particularly satisfactory, but early days. However, this linocut, Hare

led to this, which I like.

A hare turns his head
from the death at his hind feet
but still leaves shall fall.