72 micro-seasons 4

Janey: Hyacinths pushing their way through sodden black soil.

Helen: Snowdrops still lighting the way down dusky hedgerows

72 micro-seasons 3

Janey: Quinces in flower, and the first wild cherry blossom

Liz: Rain falls on waterlogged fields.

Helen: Today is the colour of gold - fat pale lemon catkins against the sky. A Goldeneye on the water puffing and preening. Sunlight pushing its way, surprisingly, into the house

72 micro-seasons 2

Warm scents rise from rain-wet ditches

72 micro-seasons 1 4Feb

Janey Thompson: A sullen mist sits on the hills. The sparrowhawk rises...

Liz Allan: Tones of grey

Emma Lavelle: The first snowdrops and daffodil buds emerging 🌱

Helen Hutchinson: This endless wind has work to do, rolls up his sleeves and roars: ‘Let’s get these ditches dry for spring!’ Yes, say the snowdrops in the hedgerows, nodding.

Armistice

For the second day, my grandfather clock chimes eleven discordantly with the deeper, more sonorous notes of Big Ben.

For the second day, I notice mild irritation in my mind, and for the second time it is followed by a wry smile -  as my heart recognises the way discord only seems appropriate ...

Taraloka haikus October 2023

Tuesday

Halted for a while

beneath the whispering tree *

pilgrim soul am I

(*aspen tremulens)

Wednesday

6.30am

Taraloka bell

rain spatters the skylight, and

I turn to the wall

Thursday

Ah, life! wanting things 

to be other than they are

- unaccountable heart

Friday

I'm watching a wren

living its huge, bustling life

in my little world

Saturday

All night the rain fell

and the morning world is dark

- my wild heart singing

Morning

Only the moment-

red kite hangs in hazy blue

sky and sea dissolve