H.w.g.a #5

This has been a week of neighbourhood giving and receiving of tidbits - scones, wild watercress and blackberry vodka are among the things that have left this house

Apple jam has arrived here, and a lovely bag of allotment vegetables.

This wonderful gift included a bag of sprouts! We are not known for our greens, and probably haven't eaten sprouts since the last time I cooked a 'proper' Christmas lunch!

But Alistair is cooking this year, and cooking curries too!

So here he is, in the time-honoured British tradition - preparing the sprouts on Christmas Eve

And here is the curry (and it's yummy!)

And this evening we met ('by chance') a few friends in the street to toast the future (or whatever).

That was very lovely (we are honorary residents of Cliff Terrace, which is VERY lovely).

H.w.g.a #4

STILL wet and muddy today, although mild and sunny for at least part of our walk...Kitty and I went up onto the deserted golf-course and then on up to Kitty's field, where we met Basil, with his three scarey (little) dogs. And then we chased around after the tennis ball in among the rainbows

And I made flatbreads, with added coconut milk and cumin seeds - which were yummy.

And painted a couple of radiators...

H.w.g.a #3

Not being a shepherd or a sailor, I

take delight in the pink-painted sky

this early morning after

the longest night

H.w.g.a #2

Solstice blessings, lovely people!

Sitting by my solstice fire, but inside, because it is raining again...still.

Cider and toast, and looking back at this strangest of all years...

But I am short of words tonight, so here are a few images:

blackberry vodka, strained and bottled ( I had a feeling crumbles were not going to get us through this winter...)

bright berries...

and a pomander...

And here are some solstice words by Emilia Ivancu, translated by Dairmuid Johnson:

H.w.g.a #1

I start today with an ominous gloom, and close to tears, but Kitty and I tog up as usual and, between showers, tramp up the hill on what had recently been the only dry-ish path. It is a running stream, but the sun is out briefly, lifting our spirits.

By the time we reach the path at the top, there are looming black clouds above the Dyfi estuary, a huge double rainbow and bright golden sunshine.

And a hailstorm. Yeah, all at the same time. I love you, Wales...

We descend the hill, choosing the road, which today resembles a river.

That was it really - my days drift by, with a little communication with loved friends and family, a little playing with clay, a little stretchy yoga in the attic, and stuff...

And the finale of His Dark Materials series 2 in a few minutes. Yay...

Here We Go Again...

My day started well...Kitty and I had a soggy walk on the deserted golf-course, garnering wild watercress and rosemary along the way. And a couple of logs.

Then it was time for a trip to the library, open briefly (click and collect), between re-ordering their systems and Christmas and a lurking Lock-Down... to return a couple of books and pick up the Bernadine Evaristo, which it is at last my turn to read, and a couple of books on curries (Alistair is taking up Indian Cookery for Christmas dinner - yay!).

There is a stand behind the books table at the library (in the doorway, as near as one gets these days), and my eye was caught by the new second series of 'My Brilliant Friend'. So I hollered - and borrowed that too, explaining that I had borrowed the first series just as the first Lock-Down descended, binge watched it all, and then bought and read all four books (twice) during the spring and summer.

They rooted around the back-shelves for me, so I came home with series one as well, to rewatch first...

That's my viewing sorted for a while.

I played with clay this afternoon, unaware that those in power were shifting the pawns about the board again.

So now London is shut-down, and we are in Lock-Down again here in the wild west. I don't care for myself, I go nowhere anyway, but for those lives have been disrupted and contracted yet again...

What if...

There is a liminal space between the sea and the shore, where waves crash, flutter or creep between the rocks and the sand where we trudge.

The boundary between sea and shore seems disorganised, spontaneous, random, changing day to day and hour to hour, as the tides advance and recede.

As Kitty-the-dog sniffs about, thrilling in all her senses, I muse on changeable-ness and impermanence.

Wild though it is, sometimes very wild here on the west coast, I am struck by the thought that in actuality, barring the odd REALLY unusual occurrence, the waves and tides are bounded and controlled by forces I don't comprehend, connected to the moon, gravity and the like. And by consulting my tide-tables I can, with some certainty, know what to expect at any given day or time in the year.

What if my life, I muse, my goings-out and comings-in, are in actuality bounded by something somewhere I can't comprehend or grasp?

Raising our eyes to the horizon, where ominous clouds are gathering, we decide to run for home ahead of the incoming storm