Monday, 7 June 2010

Devant la deluge

Clouds were thickening from the Atlantic west this morning, and by the time I'd climbed to my eyrie the air was filling with the finest of drizzle - so fine that you could only just discern it on skin, leaving the ink on paper un-blotched. There was no wind to drive it, and the still moist air carried only the sounds of skylarks. Combined with this stillness, the attenuated light from the leaden skies heightened a sense of expectancy. It prompted me to note a few lines down, as material from which to forge a poem. I was going to write a HAIKU but I couldn't leave the metaphor of radio comms out.
On-air chatter
larks break, curlews on the side;
zephyrs' breath moves along the channels.
Foraging queen wasp-noise advances and recedes.
A young frog skips clumsily
for refuge from my footfall.

I was delighted to find that the shelter had been undisturbed in the week I had been away from it. In fact I thought it looked as if it had always been there; plant-life continues to blur its edges. I added more reeds, dried grass and moss in an attempt to make it feel even more a part.

Now I've taken my light-weight folding stool up, I'm able to flit around and make quick sketches much more comfortably. I found a nearby tree stump that I'd not noticed before, and observed it from an angle that seemed to reveal its history. I need to return to this; it has so much more to reveal about structure, growth and decay. So here's a HAIKU from the observation:
The more that decays
the more is revealed of life
Sliced through each sap spring.
Now that the shelter seems to have assumed its own mantle and become a part of the location, I'm beginning to think how I can be as well. It seems inappropriate to be wearing ordinary clothing. I'm feeling a strong instinct to be a full part of the harmony around here.

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