Yesterday, in the soft rain, I walked over to where we park our car. The sky and everything else seemed so grey – all a bit depressing. Then I saw them, pressed up against the trunk of a tree, a glorious clump of Daffodils. As I looked at them I was ushered into my day with a new sense of joy and vigour, and my mind turned to one of my favourite poets:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Passed this lichen on my walk yesterday.
I’ve always been a great admirer of the poetry and writings of Mary Oliver. The other day I was going through some notes of mine and came across these words of hers – deeply touching. Sadly, she died in January 2019.
“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.”
She lived these words.
This morning I stopped alongside a fence and listened to a horse grazing in the field. It was a beautiful sound, breathy and hollow with an echoing kind of chomp, punctuated now and then by the slight sound of the grinding of teeth. It was a lovely moment and I was transported back to some of the words of a favourite poem of mine, “The Listeners” by Walter de La Mare:
Is there anybody there? said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
I loved, and still love, the phrase – “The forest’s ferny floor” – I can go on saying it forever – “The forest’s ferny floor” – and I can hear his horse in the silence champing away at the grasses.
Football fans singing
warlike, slightly off key
throaty guttural sound
Concentrating more on the
manliness of voice
than the melody itself.
I love football and I’m always amused by the singing of the fans, especially now by the undergoing change as more and more women assert themselves in the support and playing of the game.
A Winter’s day ends in skeletal celebration. The sounds of birdsong echoing here and there are finally stilled by small heads folded beneath protective wings, as light succumbs to creeping darkness.
I took a walk through the woods today and saw the sheer beauty of carpets and carpets of bluebells. The woods were dark, but dabbled with sunlight and mystery. I had the distinct feeling of not being alone. The woods have that affect on me. When I’m in them I always feel I’m surrounded by presence. I have no language to articulate it. It’s not an ominous thing, just a mysterious and beautiful presence.