Warming By The Hour
A sun filled Sunday morning here in the fens with lingering frost still hidden in garden shade and a raw chill still holding in the air. A willing day of toil faces this bead maker with beads of plenty awaiting a cold water wash and photographs to be taken, the afternoon sun I hope will warm my back as yet more seeds are sown and beds prepared in the garden of veg and if luck shines on me an hour reading by the pond will end the day.
As colder fingers start this day my mind turns to warm summer mornings that will I hope soon return, when that fresh cent of mint rushes up as you brush past and sweet young carrot can be pulled and eaten straight from the ground, hedgerows can once again be walked beside tall Barley ears and summer river banks will hide a thousand nest's, a season of smiles and quiet thoughts to make this old hermit happy.
Now I head towards my flame while service bells call those who pray to great houses of stone where windows of colour are lit by this early sun and those of faith and those of guilt will ask forgiveness. I ask of none as my world is simple and pleasing, one of which only thanks are needed and where worship is not a part of life, I ride the seasons that nature sends in my short stay and enjoy them I try, to me a greater service will never be held.
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Friday, 26 April 2013
Chill In The Air
A Night Of Rain
The still morning air is damp here in the flat world of east Anglia, every tree drips and the grey skies left behind by last night's rains hang over us making for a dark dull start to the day.
No bright sunshine to flood the fens on this April day, no warm morning sun to greet the fresh new blossom of cherry, plum and peach, just the dampness left behind by the darkness of a wet night. So quiet is this early hour, no busy sounds of building bird or courting dove, no gossip telling finches sit on bud filled branch, just silence and stillness, how different a day this be from those we enjoyed this past week.
Talk of cold days to return hit our ears and winds from the north head our way, great frost will once again cover the dark fen soil and summer will once again stutter back not sure of her entrance, the rare spring we wished for as again left our dreams and the chill again returns to cool our expectations.
Today I will sit at my flame and eyes will search through dusted window pane for signs of summer's return while glass will form beads of art that only fire can achieve and thoughts of warm summer evenings will ride the merry-go-round in my mind.
The still morning air is damp here in the flat world of east Anglia, every tree drips and the grey skies left behind by last night's rains hang over us making for a dark dull start to the day.
No bright sunshine to flood the fens on this April day, no warm morning sun to greet the fresh new blossom of cherry, plum and peach, just the dampness left behind by the darkness of a wet night. So quiet is this early hour, no busy sounds of building bird or courting dove, no gossip telling finches sit on bud filled branch, just silence and stillness, how different a day this be from those we enjoyed this past week.
Talk of cold days to return hit our ears and winds from the north head our way, great frost will once again cover the dark fen soil and summer will once again stutter back not sure of her entrance, the rare spring we wished for as again left our dreams and the chill again returns to cool our expectations.
Today I will sit at my flame and eyes will search through dusted window pane for signs of summer's return while glass will form beads of art that only fire can achieve and thoughts of warm summer evenings will ride the merry-go-round in my mind.
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
God I'm Old !!
One Very Enjoyable Day
A day away from his flame as been spent by this bead maker, to wield his chainsaw and cut to the ground those tall conifers was the aim and one he reached with smiles and aches alike, a back that won't bend and legs that won't work is all that's left of this day, a day with sunshine and saw dust playing the sweat that ran from his brow and one he wishes would never end.
His past work was forefront in his mind all day as he toiled alongside the nature he loves and misses, it lifted all the worries that remove that smile from his face, that big mother welcomed him back and he thanked her a hundred times.
As trees were cut and bonfire was burning the smell of cedar sap filled the air around this tiny part of the fens, branches were thinned and tops were removed from those evergreen giants, to die they won't but behave they may, now friends once more they block those winds of the north and yet the light now floods the garden that grows our food and greengage and apple need not fight for light this year.
A day away from his flame as been spent by this bead maker, to wield his chainsaw and cut to the ground those tall conifers was the aim and one he reached with smiles and aches alike, a back that won't bend and legs that won't work is all that's left of this day, a day with sunshine and saw dust playing the sweat that ran from his brow and one he wishes would never end.
His past work was forefront in his mind all day as he toiled alongside the nature he loves and misses, it lifted all the worries that remove that smile from his face, that big mother welcomed him back and he thanked her a hundred times.
As trees were cut and bonfire was burning the smell of cedar sap filled the air around this tiny part of the fens, branches were thinned and tops were removed from those evergreen giants, to die they won't but behave they may, now friends once more they block those winds of the north and yet the light now floods the garden that grows our food and greengage and apple need not fight for light this year.
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
A Sunny Welcome
Glass And Clay
Stunning blue skies and bright sunshine welcome the fen folk this morning, no chimney smoke from open fires is seen today nor coats of winter or hat to be worn, the sun will warm their backs and place smiles on those weathered faces as trees turn greener and hedgerow thicker.
The blackbird builds her nest just feet from me as I sit and watch, every life is busy on this morning and all I can do is admire the wonder that nature gives us, my eyes too slow to see all but that I catch makes this bead maker feel so lucky to be witness to the building of another summer.
For me this day holds magical glass of colours bright and tricks of the flame that will shape those beads that last a thousand years, the pleasure of sunshine filling the barn from dusted windows will once again please this hermit and fingers warm will no more wish for heat.
The clay will call this afternoon and bowls I will trim and decorate while sitting in the sun, for me the perfect day in which to work and one to make me smile.
Stunning blue skies and bright sunshine welcome the fen folk this morning, no chimney smoke from open fires is seen today nor coats of winter or hat to be worn, the sun will warm their backs and place smiles on those weathered faces as trees turn greener and hedgerow thicker.
The blackbird builds her nest just feet from me as I sit and watch, every life is busy on this morning and all I can do is admire the wonder that nature gives us, my eyes too slow to see all but that I catch makes this bead maker feel so lucky to be witness to the building of another summer.
For me this day holds magical glass of colours bright and tricks of the flame that will shape those beads that last a thousand years, the pleasure of sunshine filling the barn from dusted windows will once again please this hermit and fingers warm will no more wish for heat.
The clay will call this afternoon and bowls I will trim and decorate while sitting in the sun, for me the perfect day in which to work and one to make me smile.
Sunday, 21 April 2013
Day Of Sunday Sunshine
A Day To Play
The perfect spring morning of sunshine, blue skies and bird song greets us here in the fens, I've never known a better start to the day of rest. While fen folk gather at chrurch and chapel this bead maker will be enjoying the morning sowing seeds and working his small piece of soil, his rake will level the fine rich earth and seeds will fall in rows, the sun will warm his back and dreams will fill his head, dreams of fresh vegetables being pulled from the soil and picked from the stalk and bowls of mixed salad sitting on the table on warm summer days.
This afternoon he will spend sitting by ponds throwing pots on his wheel and enjoying the feel of clay between his fingers, no better way to use this sunshine filled day can he think of.
Those cold long months of winter when days such as this seemed so far away have now passed and the ice and snow are far in the past as the new green seasons head our way, the warm sun soothing our bones and the smell of cut grass is a welcome scent to our nose, at last we can enjoy the new life that moves around us, nest building in every tree and green leaf that appear fresh every morning, quiet warm evenings when gardeners stand and rest on hoe while church bell rings and bright mornings such as this when we all feel new and full of life once more.
The perfect spring morning of sunshine, blue skies and bird song greets us here in the fens, I've never known a better start to the day of rest. While fen folk gather at chrurch and chapel this bead maker will be enjoying the morning sowing seeds and working his small piece of soil, his rake will level the fine rich earth and seeds will fall in rows, the sun will warm his back and dreams will fill his head, dreams of fresh vegetables being pulled from the soil and picked from the stalk and bowls of mixed salad sitting on the table on warm summer days.
This afternoon he will spend sitting by ponds throwing pots on his wheel and enjoying the feel of clay between his fingers, no better way to use this sunshine filled day can he think of.
Those cold long months of winter when days such as this seemed so far away have now passed and the ice and snow are far in the past as the new green seasons head our way, the warm sun soothing our bones and the smell of cut grass is a welcome scent to our nose, at last we can enjoy the new life that moves around us, nest building in every tree and green leaf that appear fresh every morning, quiet warm evenings when gardeners stand and rest on hoe while church bell rings and bright mornings such as this when we all feel new and full of life once more.
Thursday, 18 April 2013
Wild Wild Winds
Fen Winds Batter The East
Clear blue skies light this April morning with sunshine strong and summer like filling the fenlands with smiles and thoughts of warm July days, yet those huge fen winds batter the land of marsh and drain, willow branches bend and dance over the water, touching the surface leaving tiny ripples like moving finger prints.
That never ending rolling roar fills the air like some wild sea that will wrap around every cottage and rush through every hedgerow like a high tide unseen by eye but felt and heard, spring-cleaning the dark magical soil of this flat garden of Britain it wipes clean every fresh bud and shoot.
This morning I return to my torch after a day of clay that I so enjoyed, pieces stand to dry on racks and ideas kick and punch to draw attention in my mind but wait they must. Maybe this evening I'll head to my wheel again to lift and pull that wet clay once more, an addiction that only cost time I've found, how lucky am I.
Clear blue skies light this April morning with sunshine strong and summer like filling the fenlands with smiles and thoughts of warm July days, yet those huge fen winds batter the land of marsh and drain, willow branches bend and dance over the water, touching the surface leaving tiny ripples like moving finger prints.
That never ending rolling roar fills the air like some wild sea that will wrap around every cottage and rush through every hedgerow like a high tide unseen by eye but felt and heard, spring-cleaning the dark magical soil of this flat garden of Britain it wipes clean every fresh bud and shoot.
This morning I return to my torch after a day of clay that I so enjoyed, pieces stand to dry on racks and ideas kick and punch to draw attention in my mind but wait they must. Maybe this evening I'll head to my wheel again to lift and pull that wet clay once more, an addiction that only cost time I've found, how lucky am I.
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Up At Dawn
First Of The Year
Well, it's here, for the first time in 2013 I get to play in the clay room on my wheel, this excited bead maker was up at dawn like that little boy on Christmas morning, its been four long cold months since I sat at my wheel feeling the wet clay between my fingers, watching my hands pull pots and bowls from lumps of fresh soft clay, piece after piece placed on boards to dry and a mind kept so interested by texture and form alone.
Pictures of tall vase like pieces ride my thoughts alongside rustic kitchenware and decorative bowls that families will share, simple tea bowls and cups will sit beside drying pitcher and clay beads will gather like small children watching and wanting to be involved.
A new year will I hope bring new skills and ideas to fruition, colours will I'm sure be bold and shapes new to my wheel, all I ask of this summer ahead is to learn and enjoy the lessons that cross my path on those tiny lanes I walk and people enjoy my journey with me, they may feel my hurt when things go wrong and share my joy when smiles light my face but importantly they are there walking beside me.
Well, it's here, for the first time in 2013 I get to play in the clay room on my wheel, this excited bead maker was up at dawn like that little boy on Christmas morning, its been four long cold months since I sat at my wheel feeling the wet clay between my fingers, watching my hands pull pots and bowls from lumps of fresh soft clay, piece after piece placed on boards to dry and a mind kept so interested by texture and form alone.
Pictures of tall vase like pieces ride my thoughts alongside rustic kitchenware and decorative bowls that families will share, simple tea bowls and cups will sit beside drying pitcher and clay beads will gather like small children watching and wanting to be involved.
A new year will I hope bring new skills and ideas to fruition, colours will I'm sure be bold and shapes new to my wheel, all I ask of this summer ahead is to learn and enjoy the lessons that cross my path on those tiny lanes I walk and people enjoy my journey with me, they may feel my hurt when things go wrong and share my joy when smiles light my face but importantly they are there walking beside me.
Nature Is Busy Under Grey Skies
Warm Morning Of Spring
A warm morning here in the wild fens with a rain filled sky hanging over the flat lands. Nature's spring is taking shape with building birds working the garden floor for twig and straw to carry, while bee bumbles around the hedgerow's prince who stands proud dressed in his white blossom and leaf bud, the sign of spring that most ignore is the regal blackthorn.
The dandy of the fens, a cheerful pleasant sight in any country lane on this April day, to grow his fruits of sloe this summer will he tend while wild plum and dansom will follow, their fruits more sweet and rich in juice.
The countryside has that hint of green and a promise of summer at last, not so cruel as to tease this time the mother lets winter pass without further tricks and sets smiles on faces who watch the skies foe swallow and swift, noses smell that rich clean grass and nettle shoots so green for tea do bunch while cherry blossom opens in soft pink.
A real spring day for this bead maker to work his trade and one he will enjoy.
A warm morning here in the wild fens with a rain filled sky hanging over the flat lands. Nature's spring is taking shape with building birds working the garden floor for twig and straw to carry, while bee bumbles around the hedgerow's prince who stands proud dressed in his white blossom and leaf bud, the sign of spring that most ignore is the regal blackthorn.
The dandy of the fens, a cheerful pleasant sight in any country lane on this April day, to grow his fruits of sloe this summer will he tend while wild plum and dansom will follow, their fruits more sweet and rich in juice.
The countryside has that hint of green and a promise of summer at last, not so cruel as to tease this time the mother lets winter pass without further tricks and sets smiles on faces who watch the skies foe swallow and swift, noses smell that rich clean grass and nettle shoots so green for tea do bunch while cherry blossom opens in soft pink.
A real spring day for this bead maker to work his trade and one he will enjoy.
Sunday, 14 April 2013
Thoughts Of Clay
A Head Full Of Pots
Warmer days point this bead maker towards the thoughts of clay, early summer afternoons sat by ponds throwing pots and bowls until the sun sets and buckets of glaze in which they wash. For the last week my mind has seen nothing but pot designs, shape and sizes rush around in my thoughts doing crazy dances, too quick for me to note like a mad butterfly never stopping on one bloom, my dreams flicker from one piece to another.
This week it starts, no more waiting and wishing for the spin of my wheel, at last the feel of wet clay will touch my fingers and pots will dry on shelves once more. The long cold winter is over and my clay room will once again become active, my days will be busy with both flame and wheel and kilns of both glass and clay will warm my heart on every morning.
A warm morning we enjoy on this day of rest with just gentle fen winds and bright skies to welcome us, still the soil lays damp from last nights rain yet soon it will dry and gardens will be busy in the week ahead.
A day of work for me with beads to make and barn to tidy, old carpet to remove and glass displays to clean, an exciting time for us and such a nice fresh change to my little barn of magic.
Warmer days point this bead maker towards the thoughts of clay, early summer afternoons sat by ponds throwing pots and bowls until the sun sets and buckets of glaze in which they wash. For the last week my mind has seen nothing but pot designs, shape and sizes rush around in my thoughts doing crazy dances, too quick for me to note like a mad butterfly never stopping on one bloom, my dreams flicker from one piece to another.
This week it starts, no more waiting and wishing for the spin of my wheel, at last the feel of wet clay will touch my fingers and pots will dry on shelves once more. The long cold winter is over and my clay room will once again become active, my days will be busy with both flame and wheel and kilns of both glass and clay will warm my heart on every morning.
A warm morning we enjoy on this day of rest with just gentle fen winds and bright skies to welcome us, still the soil lays damp from last nights rain yet soon it will dry and gardens will be busy in the week ahead.
A day of work for me with beads to make and barn to tidy, old carpet to remove and glass displays to clean, an exciting time for us and such a nice fresh change to my little barn of magic.
Friday, 12 April 2013
Damp Fenland Morning
Hodwell Beads And Empty Boxes
A grey heron passes over my ponds on this damp April morning, a morning of dull skies and easy thoughts, a morning when small fen cottages stand out like tiny white steamers sailing the fen marshes, slow smoke rising from red brick chimney stacks while fen folk enjoy the signs of spring that most ignore.
The river banks wrapped in early dew while ivy clad pumping stations stand idle their wind blown shells home to barn owl and summer swallow. The voices of past fen tigers whisper over reed beds and water meadow, great eel catchers and sedge cutters telling stories of better days when their world was lost to all but them, when huge marsh harrier hunted the wide open skies and clear waters were ruled by pike and eel, when summer winds burnt faces of peat cutters and and reed bails would travel the drains to waiting thatchers, those eyes still watch through the dew and mist on these dull damp mornings and those voices still whisper in ears.
For me awaits a day at my torch, Hodwell beads to form in flames of blue and gold and fen colours for me to find, today is no real day of colours bright nor sharp loud design but one of natural beauty, those greens and browns that make our world so calm, shades to wear on every day.
Empty boxes are left as this bead maker sorts his past in glass, beads from old are now asleep and packed away as new ideas fill his little place of magic, a new look is forming from the old and a welcome sign will soon be hung over his door, new friends will interest his mind and smiles will he hopes face his work once more.
A grey heron passes over my ponds on this damp April morning, a morning of dull skies and easy thoughts, a morning when small fen cottages stand out like tiny white steamers sailing the fen marshes, slow smoke rising from red brick chimney stacks while fen folk enjoy the signs of spring that most ignore.
The river banks wrapped in early dew while ivy clad pumping stations stand idle their wind blown shells home to barn owl and summer swallow. The voices of past fen tigers whisper over reed beds and water meadow, great eel catchers and sedge cutters telling stories of better days when their world was lost to all but them, when huge marsh harrier hunted the wide open skies and clear waters were ruled by pike and eel, when summer winds burnt faces of peat cutters and and reed bails would travel the drains to waiting thatchers, those eyes still watch through the dew and mist on these dull damp mornings and those voices still whisper in ears.
For me awaits a day at my torch, Hodwell beads to form in flames of blue and gold and fen colours for me to find, today is no real day of colours bright nor sharp loud design but one of natural beauty, those greens and browns that make our world so calm, shades to wear on every day.
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
Grey Skies, Beads To Make And Seeds To Sow
Warmer Days
Grey misty skies greet us this morning, skies that seem to drop that blanket of dampness over the village and the smell of spring reaches your nose as you leave your cottage, the sound of dove and pigeon echo through the air while my thoughts turn to those childhood days when that boy would set off to pick peas on his trusty bike on mornings such as this, plastic bucket hanging on his handlebars and a sandwich wrapped in silver foil tucked in his coat pocket. Four miles down country lane he would travel until the pea fields were laid out in front of him, smiling faces of the lady pickers would welcome his arrival and green pea nets handed to him, happy times they were and days never to return in this new world of ours.
With the temperatures warming this week it has been the kitchen garden that as taken my attention, raised beds have been dug and worked ready for seed sowing and paths and hedgerows have been put in place, yet more conifers have been topped so as to let in even more light and the odd bonfire as sent small columns of white smoke high into the wide fen sky.
Those two hours every afternoon seem to settle my mind and set it free of worry, I'm back out in the world I love and enjoy with just sounds of the countryside in my ears and soil on my hands, I can lean on my hoe and look across mile after mile of rich fenland, no better way to end a working day.
Today this bead maker is playing with silver glass, blues and pinks will shine under clear coats and more natural shades will sit next to each other in the hot kiln waiting for tomorrow and their chance to show off. While dove and finch alike build for their new families this bead hermit will sit at his flame watching magic and being lead by the glass and every few minutes his mind will wonder to past days and people, spring mornings when all that mattered was the Ashwell countryside and family, when the river bank was his resting place while watching the water for frog and fish and when he wondered how his life would turn out, well he has had a lucky life and one he enjoys, not rich in worth like most but rich in nature and the important things in life.
Grey misty skies greet us this morning, skies that seem to drop that blanket of dampness over the village and the smell of spring reaches your nose as you leave your cottage, the sound of dove and pigeon echo through the air while my thoughts turn to those childhood days when that boy would set off to pick peas on his trusty bike on mornings such as this, plastic bucket hanging on his handlebars and a sandwich wrapped in silver foil tucked in his coat pocket. Four miles down country lane he would travel until the pea fields were laid out in front of him, smiling faces of the lady pickers would welcome his arrival and green pea nets handed to him, happy times they were and days never to return in this new world of ours.
With the temperatures warming this week it has been the kitchen garden that as taken my attention, raised beds have been dug and worked ready for seed sowing and paths and hedgerows have been put in place, yet more conifers have been topped so as to let in even more light and the odd bonfire as sent small columns of white smoke high into the wide fen sky.
Those two hours every afternoon seem to settle my mind and set it free of worry, I'm back out in the world I love and enjoy with just sounds of the countryside in my ears and soil on my hands, I can lean on my hoe and look across mile after mile of rich fenland, no better way to end a working day.
Today this bead maker is playing with silver glass, blues and pinks will shine under clear coats and more natural shades will sit next to each other in the hot kiln waiting for tomorrow and their chance to show off. While dove and finch alike build for their new families this bead hermit will sit at his flame watching magic and being lead by the glass and every few minutes his mind will wonder to past days and people, spring mornings when all that mattered was the Ashwell countryside and family, when the river bank was his resting place while watching the water for frog and fish and when he wondered how his life would turn out, well he has had a lucky life and one he enjoys, not rich in worth like most but rich in nature and the important things in life.
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