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Great Little Birds

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Last Saturday afternoon, I was sitting quietly at home when I heard a distinctive two syllable bird song. I slowly stood up and staying well back from the window I watched as a pair of little birds flew back and forth to the feeder on the olive tree. I knew they’d be off if I made any sudden movements, but when they were out of sight I went to get my camera. They must have seen me spying on them because they stayed further away on John Downie’s budding branches, still coming and going.

I watched for half an hour desperately trying to get a decent photo, several feet inside of the window with unsettled light.

They are of course, Great Tits.
Now, Paula’s Thursday challenge this week is zoom in zoom out. So here’s a closer view of these cute, but also quite stroppy little birds.

Paula zoomed in on a beautiful waterfall in Croatia, ‘stopping’the flow to create a white curtain of water.

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A Birthday Poem

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Still missing Becky’s squares and not capable of stringing much more than a sentence together this evening, I thought I’d reblog one of my poems. Next to my own River Exe, the Teign is one of my favourite rivers anywhere. This poem is my tribute to it.

Lucid Gypsy

Today is the day, but as always I plan to have a birthday month, so I spent yesterday walking beside the river Bovey. This is the result.

Rushing Slowly

I contemplate the transience of the River Bovey.

Every molecule of water that flows past my feet

has a destiny, whether it is to evaporate,

to splash onto the shingle that scratches at my soles,

sink into the peaty soil

or connect with the vastness of the sea.

Every leaf, green, frosted or baked dry by the sun

will crumble, flake along the route

or wash up intact on a beach,

ten or ten thousand miles away.

Every little stick tumbles and rolls

between east and west river bank,

to be claimed by a golden retriever

or gathered by a green consumer

to give home a few minutes of warmth.

From its source between Chagford and Shapley commons,

the Bovey glides, swirls…

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Rust, turquoise and wire

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Find the photo, it’s the one with all three, above the two wood person.

Nature’s sculpture curves, sways and strives
to sling un-human’s detritus from the margins
to protect the vast ocean from more of the rot

nothing on this planet that hasn’t always been
then what vile reversed alchemy allows iron,
converts copper, and bends bronze until
it becomes a web of death for seal, dolphin, albatross?
to disintegrate into toxic crumbs in the cold blooded
sea fish that fetch up formed into fingers
crumbed and plated with so much sea salt
disguising neutralizing the residue of iron
fingers of rust turn to dust in the gut

oil carbon chemical process turns into sacks
and plastic bags, bottles to contain oil
to massage into aging flesh
while hastening our planet’s death

Just a quickie to draw your attention . . .

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. . . to the two most amazing blog posts.

I don’t know Anne  very well, because soon after I discovered her, she took a break from blogging. She’s back now, and I’m totally bowled over by these posts about Kent and Sussex, counties I know little about, but Anne has sold to me, here and here.

So, make some tea, put you feet up and enjoy, I promise it will be time well spent!

It could be you one day

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The early days of Lucid Gypsy, and no one even saw this post 😦
Happy Saturday eveyone!

Lucid Gypsy

I met an elderly man today. He had come to out-patients for one of years of appointments in cardiology, nephrology and the eye unit. He had a sparkle in his eye, stains on his shirt and his trouser fastenings were quite suspect, but I liked him. He chatted to me about his ailments and I helped him to sort through his paperwork amongst which was a poem. I tried to peep at it but couldn’t quite see, and after a while he offered it to me, saying that it was about the ageing process and he had ‘adapted’ it to include bits about his health. You can Google the original, it’s called ‘The shape I’m in’and each stanza ends with those words.

I could see behind him that someone was shifting from foot to foot, a young medic who probably hadn’t yet been on a geriatric ward. Now, whenever someone…

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Silence

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San Gimignano in Tuscany, was on my must visit list for some time and the opportunity to see it finally arrived last September. It has a reputation for being horribly touristy so I went prepared for armies of people. I was pleasantly surprised, a Monday in mid September turned out to be a god day to visit, there were plenty of people but it wasn’t as expected.

When I saw this weeks photo challenge, Silence I thought about bells, how they are silent most of the time these days, just the Sunday church chime and the occasional practice ring. Do you hear bells very often, perhaps if you live in a village?

These bells at the Loggia of the Judge in San Gimignano are unlikely to chime again.

Silence prevails, that’s rather sad don’t you think?

 

Around a well from the past

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Close to Jhunjhunu in Rajasthan there are several step wells, in varying degrees of decay. The one I visited, in Bagar,if my memory serves me, was not considered safe enough to get close to.

But the rather dreamlike surroundings offered a little respite from the relentless heat and dust,

and this smiling gentleman was very proud to be taking care of the well.

These structure has been around for hundreds of years, so I’m posting for Paula’s traces of the past.