Winter stayed too long
Winter stayed too long
rain and wind would not abate,
chilled air seeped through cracks
into March and April’s lengthening days
At last, amongst buttercups chasing
cowslips from the meadows,
cattle roamed and ruminated,
and the cold wind changed direction.
A feeble warmth upon the stones
enticed a lizard from his crevice; he
waited for the warmth within his blood
but spring seemed a long time coming.
back in the bosom of La Belle France and with all this technology I should surely be able to write something of interest for anyone who might be reading it. Instead here’s a poem – written last year
Never Return
Autumn mist
crept slowly from the valley
a slithering grey dampness swirled
as it weaved its way among trees and tiles
enveloping all like a shroud,
sliding round rooftops and chimneys
sucking out colour, leaving
the grey mask
like death’s own face;
and when the wind followed
shuddering, it sighed
‘never return
never return.’
And now for something completely different….
A
the blue skies of Benidorm
and some creatures around our cottage
such a pretty moth!
the heart finds its morning, and is refreshed.’ Kahil Gibrain
I have always loved the book that this quote comes from – The Prophet.
How can you refresh a heart? I was thinking along those lines – plenty of time to think in a camper van in Spain -especially as the sun has gone in…
I thought about
… an unexpected hug…
and an unasked for arm around around your shoulders,
a kind smile – not the patronising ‘here we go again’ sort of smile,
When you are younger maybe its the undemanding kiss of a lover, or later maybe just the comfort of the sun on creaky joints,
a kiss from a grandchild and a warm sticky hand placed trustingly in yours.
How easily is the heart refreshed in the dew of little things.
have you refreshed a heart today?
The almond blossom is out fully now – we are surrounded by it and everywhere is tinged in pink. If I was a poet I am sure I would write about it…
and as for these tremendous giant spiky plants –
but what I am mainly thinking about on this beautiful sunny morning in the hills above Denia is… when did my knees suddenly get so FAT!
..ugh…not only have they gone very ugly without me noticing but one of them doesn’t work as well as it used to in the olden days.
Happy Friday from the Costa Blanca
Washing up in the sunshine this morning I was reminded of all the other times I have stood at a sink in the sun – all those wonderful years of summer holidays, camping in France when the daughters were small; and then after they’d grown up, when there was just me and himself, and we had moved up to the luxury of a caravan – albeit an old one, we still went to France and we still washed up in the sun…but perhaps we had a few more meals in restaurants as the years moved on.
Now here we are in a camper van in the winter sunshine of Spain, much older and maybe not much wiser, but still washing up in the sunshine and revelling in the moment while enjoying the warmth of the sun on our slightly more creaky joints.
Oh I know the saying ‘don’t look back you’re not going there’ but life is made up of memories, and looking back at them doesn’t stop you enjoying every moment of the present.
It has now come to my notice, for the third time only, that real people and not just my family, actually read what I have written! What a frightening thought.. and now my mind has gone completely blank so it will have to be a photo or two
This is Guadalest – in the mountains above Benidorm – it was a chilly day and not a lot of sun – unusually – because most of the time we have had lovely weather for our escape to the warmth of Spain.
I couldn’t resist putting this one on -looking from the lighthouse towards Altea. Something about the colour of the sea and the blue sky – how inspiring is that?
Now there’s a thought – Wordsworth used daffodils and look what he achieved…maybe it’ll be the sea for me – but not quite at this moment! It’ll come, perhaps, who knows? There must be another word for azure!
Here’s a sunset from the camper van door – another inspiring moment
Isn’t this a wonderful world? And the simple pleasures in life are often inspiring – watch this space…
The wonderful Millau Bridge.
Isn’t this a work of art? I’m afraid my photo taken through the camper van window does not do it justice – it is truly amazing – Well done Mr Foster – probably lord or sir at least by now.
“Life is a bowl of cherries. Some cherries are rotten while others are good; its your job to throw out the rotten ones and forget about them while you enjoy eating the ones that are good!
There are two kinds of people: those who choose to throw out the good cherries and wallow in all the rotten ones, and those who choose to throw out all the rotten ones and savour all the good ones.”
What does this mean? Think positively all the time? Is that savouring the good cherries?
Sorry but there are no photos to accompany this tale
I thought this might be something to write down…it is far worse than looking for my glasses and finding them on
a chain round my neck; or finding my purse in the fridge; this one smacks of real dementia – real and scary.p>
You see I thought it would come on like my mother’s did, stopping cooking and cleaning and then stopping washing herself and then she stopped reading and knitting and so I am constantly hoovering up, baking cakes and showering every morning and knitting – good grief every night I sit in front of the tv knitting – stuff people won’t wear, tea cosies people won’t use and even a very odd looking camel for a nativity scene…but I knit obviously fooling myself into thinking that I am keeping the home for the bemused and bewildered at bay…when you hear the long-winded tale of the weetabix keys you will realise that, unfortunately, I am not!
We were in the camper van on a campsite in Peniscola and somewhere between having given the dog a good play on the beach and having our tea the van keys disappeared.
OK, I can hear you say, it’s only 6 metres long and you got in with them so they are there somewhere and therefore easy enough to find…
Always retrace what you have done and then you will find them.
I pressed the key fob, tied the dog to the wing mirror, put the keys on the hook – ah that’s the bit I must have dreamt, and knelt down to get the Ramoska out of the cupboard – a very useful piece of equipment the Ramoska but that’s another story…
It was when my all suffering husband came to get the keys to turn on the gas that the great hunt began.
And what a search – every pocket, cupboard and bag was turned out, not once but up to three times – even the rubbish was tipped out on to the ground outside and painstakingly picked over piece by wretched piece.
All to no avail – the keys were nowhere to be found.
What on earth could I have done with them?
And it was with a sinking heart, even a large gin could not alleviate, that I went to bed that night.
In the morning, there, nestling in the bottom of the weetabix box was the bunch of keys…how on earth…?
I must have put them there ….
Best just to laugh and enjoy the retelling, best not to ask why? how?
Today, 28th december 2013, from now on will always be known as ‘the day of the buzzard.’
Such a wet and miserable day – a day for knitting by the fire or baking cakes, writing snail mail letters or phoning friends – that sort of day, indeed, but there was a parcel to post and a bill to pay – in rural France we still write cheques and post them!
I drove the four km to the village, and after all the pleasantries in the Post Office, walked back to the car, stopping at the boulangerie for a fresh loaf .The saturday market in the little square was doing its best to be cheerful with Christmas music and some fresh fruit and vegetables. It seems to be getting smaller every year…but thats another story.
On the way back up the hill a buzzard flew low down out of the bushes on the side of the road and although I wasn’t going quickly and I braked sharply – I still hit it. When I got out of the car I could see it was still alive. On its back in the road, perfectly still, except for its chest moving.
Wrapping it carefully in a cloth I put the poor creature in the car. It made no attempt to move. I felt dreadful – such a beautiful specimen and I had probably killed it.
Back at the cottage we left it in a box and closed it in the empty garage, out of the rain and safe from all the feral cats that rule the farmyard at the bottom of the lane.
Just over an hour later, and having found a phone number for a society dealing with injured birds, we were surprised and inordinately happy when we opened the door and it flew away.
Perhaps it was just concussed, a bit bruised and battered maybe, and I am so glad I just didn’t leave it there in the road thinking I had killed it.
So, I can hear it now, in a few years time ‘was that he Christmas you hit the buzzard?’ or equally:
‘Don’t you remember? That was the year you hit the buzzard – when would that have been? 2013 maybe?’
thehappyhoopoe 