January 2012
5 posts
6 tags
January, Pink
Two pin pricks of pink were the only colour in the cheeks of the new year. Now, nearly a month on, January’s cold face is suffused with a dull rainbow of pinks. The low sun feebly bathes the young year in muted warmth. Slumbering trees are being tickled into a million nuances of brown pink. Soft light is gently bruising alder catkins purple and pink. Dead grass squirms out of my grasp, a...
6 tags
January, How To Get Rid Of A Cow. (That's Blocking...
As the cows slowly make their way across the field, my dogs warily inch closer to me. By the time the cows have arrived the dogs are tightly wound round me. Tails and feet spilling awkwardly over my paper and pencils. We have become a three headed, six legged creature. Three pairs of eyes covering every angle. One part warm bliss, two parts nerves, we wait while the cows blow and burp and breath...
8 tags
January, Darkness.
I spend more time in star and moonlight than I do in the sunlight at the moment. I’m almost translucent. Is that faint ethereal glow radiating from me? Silvery moonbeams have been slowly percolating into my brain. Every strange stumbling twilight experience points inexorably towards lunacy. I’m living in the night but I’m not part of it. I see things by not looking at them....
5 tags
January, In a Grove of Ghosts.
I am in a grove of small ghosts. Pale in sunlight, blinking in the rain and invisible at dusk, these young trees almost disappear in the winter. Soulless beings, purple grey, and floating. They freeze in my warm stare, vaguely giving the impression of rootedness. I turn my back and they continue their undead pacing. Playing a phantom game of grandmothers footsteps. Little bruised spectres,...
6 tags
January, The Pipping of Teal.
The wind blew through the dead grass. It hissed. The empty wood tossed and moaned in it’s winter sleep. Crows watched. Cows stood wet and staring in the dark light. And then the teal came. Corkscrewing, jinxing, twisting and rolling; they arrived in their hundreds. Making the lake their own, they set up a chorus of pipping carolling, celebrating life in the midst of our suspended torpor....
