Nailing my colours...

'Earthling.'  I will not
stand beneath your flag. Only
this. Love, truth, beauty...

Oh England

Channel-browsing last night, we came across Ralph McTell on a keyboard in that far-flung field at Glasto, where presenters hang out...as he began to sing I KNEW that the chorus would contain words which have haunted me all my adult life:
'and the echoes of the green hills run down the city streets' he sang, several times

So there we have it...that line must have come from the flip-side of Streets of London. I never owned anything else by McTell and my subconscious has retained the words all these years.
Now, what to do with them?

Grace

Revisit with care
the rain-swept, fern-wet, shale-slipped
cliffs of memory

Kitty's Field

Musing in the sunshine, while Kitty runs, jumps and rolls in her favourite field, I imagine in some distant future, a neo-stone-age campfire conversation near the beach:
'And then you skirt Kitty's Field, you know, at the top of that ruined cliff railway. It's called Kitty's Field on all the old maps, but no-one remembers why...maybe there was a railway cat?'

That sort of morning

Refreshed by wood sorrel
and random conversations about dogs, the wonderment of small children
and turkish poetry in translation,
we take an even longer way home...

4 May 2016

Past the eighteenth hole
salt-breezed scented sunshine flows
and bluebells greet us

South Beach

Strung out along the beach
like beacons
of a 'don't give a shit'
generation
last night's abandoned barbecues