Sunshine Lights The Fens

Cold But Bright


   Strong sunshine lights up the fens this last day of February, it's marriage to the cold breeze from the north making such a fresh clean morning, one of bird song and dancing conifer branches swaying like green waves . Finches chatter in Lilac and blackbird washes it her morning pool, crystal clear and cold as ice it cleans every feather. Bird boxes welcome blue tit and great but will they stay, will they make their home and be safe, travel a thousand times from feeder to hole with beaks of full in months to come, maybe they will.
   With morning sun come thoughts of clay for this bead hermit, afternoons sitting in warm garden throwing pots and bowls and longing my life to stay that way, peaceful and honest hidden away from the busy world with my flame to welcome me each dawn and clay to cleanse my hands each evening, no better way can I think to spend my days, no better way.

   Today I look to old friends in my flame, focal beads of stone and coats of clear to protect their core, silver tears that drop onto their faces never to move again, there they stay for a hundred years, admired and worn around slender necks of those who care, passed to daughters from aged hands onto another life where they show off the magical tricks of fire and glass.

A Cold Still Morning

A Dragon To Feed


   No early spring sun or bright blue skies here this morning, a cold still late winter's day greets us with huge wide grey sky and not a breath of fen breeze, dove call sounds out from the silence and just the odd passing morning traffic rumbles by the cottage as I sit warming hands on my tea mug.
   My little dragon will today warm my feet while I sit at my torch, his fat belly will bulge with orange flame and his warm grey breath will climb up through the still air as if to warm the clouds, the kettle will ride his iron shoulders while ever crackle and spit will sound out through the barn.
   A day of colour ahead of me with bright dots and discs to form, happy beads to brighten the mood and remind us that summer is closer than we think, blues, greens, reds and yellow will enter the flame, this bead hermit will once again ride that funfair of crazy warm colours while the world outside his barn slowly works through this last cold season, his own little world where every day can be fun, every hour can be a magic show where tricks of fire deserve great applause and tiny eyes watch from dark corners.

   Bright candy pink was formed yesterday with simple case to allow all to see, a magical colour with cords of light running through ever bead, not the shade this hermit would normally expect to make him smile but smile he did.

Spring Morning

How Near Spring Must Be


   Clear blue skies greet us here this morning, crystal blue with not a cloud in sight cradles the early sun that lights up the flat lands of the east, early frost melts while bird song rings around the fens like natures own Sunday service.
   A choir of rooks sound out from the great Ash and Oak of manor farm, a good half mile away but their calls echo through the still morning air, wood pigeon court and the tiny wren hops from hedge to hedge, her small fine beak searches every twig. The gold finches are again busy feeding while the first spring green finch arrives on cherry tree branch, so clean and clear his green wing feathers.
   For me a day of garden toil that I will enjoy, jobs of which I longed to arrive through those winter months of ice, bonfire to light and beds to dig with plans to make and seeds to sow when greenhouse is tidy once more, what better way to spend this day of rest.
   No flame to light this day nor dragon to feed just spring sun to warm my bones and natures theatre to entertain, a thousand players will perform and every one a star.

Hot Lemon And Honey

A Day To Recharge


   It's been what seems like a long long week here at the barn, a mixed bag of fortunes was my reward with beads both good and bad emerging from the kiln, positive results far out weighing those with a tinge of disappointment, lots of ideas were tried and lots more will be given a chance in the flame, but today I rest, recharging my batteries and spending time thinking, watching and writing about the life I lead and that which as passed, my way of relaxing I guess.
   I sit here watching 12 painted clowns feeding on niger seed, their faces so bright and clear and not a worry in the world, some sit and wait their turn, their red face masks standing out like warning lights in the green and brown of late winter while others dine on those tiny black seeds they love so much. Beaks are cleaned on bare lilac branches while collard dove starts to forage for those first early nesting materials, pulling and tugging on twig and stick until carried high into conifer tree.
   No rains this morning or winds of the fen, no ice nor snow carpets the dark soil this day and just the sound of blackbird, robin and finch fill the air, an unspoiled weekend morning, I'd barter every bead I've made to make every day such as this and make a million more to bring back those I miss to share them with.
 
 

Hints Of Winter Remain

   Cold Morning In The Fens


   Cold sleet from the north washes over the dark eastern soil this morning, sleet that kisses your face with freezing cold touch and stings your forehead like a thousand angel pinches. The cold of winter's end rides every droplet of ice, that cold chill that tightens your skin before working it's way to your bones.
   On a day when the fens look so grey like the world as lost it's colour, my flame will flicker on again after burning late last evening, more magical tricks it will show, keeping my mind warm even if body cold.
   My little black fire dragon is again alive and crackles and spits as he warms the barn, his timber fare stacked awaiting his greed and flat bottom kettle resting on his shoulders.
   So close was spring that you could feel the warm mornings travelling our way but now that reminder of winter's tail, those weeks when fingers once again feel cold and stiff, when nose and cheeks belong to another colder you and breath sends words into the cold air riding warm steam until they fade into the past.
   Once again a day of glass calls and I head off to play and learn, to carry onward on my journey, travelling those lanes I love where lessons hide behind every tree and new challenges await around every bend, where I past old friends who were forgotten and say hello once more, old friends I made in my flame in winters past  when colours were new and days so different to those I now live.
 

Signs Of Spring

Life Starts Again


   Another fresh morning greets us here in the fenland with that cold wind yet again forcing us to light wood fires and wrap in layers of plenty, my warm kiln will welcome my freezing fingers this morning and that little fire dragon that stands in barn corner will breath out warm air as it's belly glows golden with flames from fen timber.
   I see my world changing every day with snowdrops arriving like bands of spring outlaws hiding under every tree, there they sit with heads bowed after the battle with late winter, ready to welcome spring they wait, humble yet so very beautiful they look.
   Every tree and shrub hold a thousand buds of leaf, natures jewellery they will form, no gold or stones of light do they need, just those honest green pendants that gather water and make our lands so green, great shade they form where bead hermit will sit and write and dream of worries lifting to leave a restful life with quiet days in which to melt his glass.
   The wren hops from every web searching her food and robins sit watching over every change, collard dove collects twig and stick to form and restore and those tiny blue darts that tits throw through conifer branches seem now so bright.
   Even my flame is happy licking colours of bright fun, another sign of clear warm days I wonder, does this magical fire that teaches me know how the seasons turn or does it once more play tricks with me, I'll never know for sure but ancient glass hermits trusted and so will I.