At Last We Get A Summer Morning
An easy breeze and a sea of sunshine floods the fens this morning, at last we have a real summer start to this day of rest, blooms and blossom fill the east anglian air with sweet cent and the bird world seems so busy once more. The rains of the past week left the soil soft and the hedgerows clean and fresh, now the summer sun can warm our world and bring again happy faces to coastline, insect life will once more roam reed and sedge while waters crystal clear hold another world of natures building.
Once more this bead maker will work with his flame while another Sunday passes, his garden he will tend in afternoon sun and evening pond will be his friend, his dreams will walk on silent beaches and wonder through oak forest where dappled shade will dance and streams will trickle, to some his life is dull and slow but this bead hermit will enjoy the trips of his mind once more while his beads are made, his world so rich tho pocket poor will ride these sun filled days and his simple life will hold his heart so full of fight.
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Friday, 24 May 2013
Once More We Face The Rain
A Wet Cold Week
Another chilled morning of early summer rides the fen winds on this day of May, yet more rain falls over our rich soil and the hopes of a warm bright bank holiday sadly sink in our hearts. These wide open skies once more cast grey cloud above our special world of dyke and drove where bird does sit on fresh new nest now damp and cold, where picturesque lilac blooms see their cent washed away by the drizzle and old cast iron gutters play those winter tunes once more.
The bright new green world now drips with rain and rivers feed the dry banks, cow parsley stands higher each day and the reed beads clean the marshes like armies of washer women dressed in green, no forest of oak stands in this world, no hill path to follow or rock to climb, here the world of water and fen do face the winds and rain.
A week to forget for this bead maker it has been, a week of worry and sleepless nights he spent, his kiln did die and no beads were made while joints are slow and stiff once more, how nice the warm days would be now to return the smiles he hides, it will pass as new days arrive and once more his flame will play the magical tricks he loves so much, no more tears will he have to fight, now he can carry on those lanes of learning that snake through his life of fire and glass. Again he will watch the dancing rain on ponds as molten glass will set and hear the finches chatter while feeding high above the water and these days will be forgotten as those of the past are today.
Another chilled morning of early summer rides the fen winds on this day of May, yet more rain falls over our rich soil and the hopes of a warm bright bank holiday sadly sink in our hearts. These wide open skies once more cast grey cloud above our special world of dyke and drove where bird does sit on fresh new nest now damp and cold, where picturesque lilac blooms see their cent washed away by the drizzle and old cast iron gutters play those winter tunes once more.
The bright new green world now drips with rain and rivers feed the dry banks, cow parsley stands higher each day and the reed beads clean the marshes like armies of washer women dressed in green, no forest of oak stands in this world, no hill path to follow or rock to climb, here the world of water and fen do face the winds and rain.
A week to forget for this bead maker it has been, a week of worry and sleepless nights he spent, his kiln did die and no beads were made while joints are slow and stiff once more, how nice the warm days would be now to return the smiles he hides, it will pass as new days arrive and once more his flame will play the magical tricks he loves so much, no more tears will he have to fight, now he can carry on those lanes of learning that snake through his life of fire and glass. Again he will watch the dancing rain on ponds as molten glass will set and hear the finches chatter while feeding high above the water and these days will be forgotten as those of the past are today.
Sunday, 12 May 2013
How Fast The Change
A Green World In Just a Week
The sunshine warms the flat lands this Sunday morning with easy winds blowing across the fens as leaf and blossom alike dance their little jig of spring, a night of rain fell over us here in the east and still the rich soil is damp and dark awaiting the dry sunny day ahead.
How green this land has now become with sun and rain working that magic we miss all winter, the hedgerows fill with shades of green, no more through these trees can we see, now they form a solid wall for field and meadow while natures larder will soon feed and busy nests will run through summer.
For this old bead maker there is a long day to face but one of which he will enjoy, the morning sounds will fill his ears while he sits at flame and his mind will once again ride the carousel of bead ideas that never leaves his head, colours will play and eyes will wonder at the marriage they make while smiles will beam across his face.
An afternoon of garden will follow and soil to work, seeds will once more be sown and hoe will glean the weeds that number many in just a week while seedlings grow those crops we wish for to fill our plates and salad bowls this summer. A happy man will finish this day by pond, book in hand and dog by feet he will sit, a simple man he has become and one who greets every day with hope and smiles, thankful for this life he has.
The sunshine warms the flat lands this Sunday morning with easy winds blowing across the fens as leaf and blossom alike dance their little jig of spring, a night of rain fell over us here in the east and still the rich soil is damp and dark awaiting the dry sunny day ahead.
How green this land has now become with sun and rain working that magic we miss all winter, the hedgerows fill with shades of green, no more through these trees can we see, now they form a solid wall for field and meadow while natures larder will soon feed and busy nests will run through summer.
For this old bead maker there is a long day to face but one of which he will enjoy, the morning sounds will fill his ears while he sits at flame and his mind will once again ride the carousel of bead ideas that never leaves his head, colours will play and eyes will wonder at the marriage they make while smiles will beam across his face.
An afternoon of garden will follow and soil to work, seeds will once more be sown and hoe will glean the weeds that number many in just a week while seedlings grow those crops we wish for to fill our plates and salad bowls this summer. A happy man will finish this day by pond, book in hand and dog by feet he will sit, a simple man he has become and one who greets every day with hope and smiles, thankful for this life he has.
Monday, 6 May 2013
Sounds Of Nature
Bank Holiday Silence
My kind of world greets us on this bank holiday of May, on distant fen the call of pheasant rides the gentle breeze and travels the silence without a stutter, the repeating call fills the air with warnings as slow walking partridge glen the dark soil beside barley green like old men bent over rabbit nets.
River bank sits quiet as Mallard wander the still water, no purpose in their trip that leaves gentle bow ripples to reach the reed edged banks so steep, no shouts of children spoil the air on this day of silence.
The bead maker sits with thoughts of clay running through his mind, his bones that ache sit resting on seat of turf while the morning sun warms his back, to tend his clay the thoughts do cross with wide eyes watching ponds of still water he waits, will this morning freeze in time and never pass, will morning like come again to cheer his face and heart.
My kind of world greets us on this bank holiday of May, on distant fen the call of pheasant rides the gentle breeze and travels the silence without a stutter, the repeating call fills the air with warnings as slow walking partridge glen the dark soil beside barley green like old men bent over rabbit nets.
River bank sits quiet as Mallard wander the still water, no purpose in their trip that leaves gentle bow ripples to reach the reed edged banks so steep, no shouts of children spoil the air on this day of silence.
The bead maker sits with thoughts of clay running through his mind, his bones that ache sit resting on seat of turf while the morning sun warms his back, to tend his clay the thoughts do cross with wide eyes watching ponds of still water he waits, will this morning freeze in time and never pass, will morning like come again to cheer his face and heart.
Sunday, 5 May 2013
The Bullock Yard
The Bullock Yard
On slopping hillside of southern sun lies forgotten yard of grand beasts that once roamed the meadows of grass. The rust red tin that covers yellow brick from London stock now hides the whispers of cattle men from a century past when candles of tallow lit the night as calf was born.
A shelter from snows and gales from the north it once stood so proud, now clad in ivy the walls and lime mortar pass through seasons of both sun and ice. Great nettle beds soften the forgotten shell that once held life and passed in every hour by Ashwell folk who remember not this yard of cattle.
On slopping hillside of southern sun lies forgotten yard of grand beasts that once roamed the meadows of grass. The rust red tin that covers yellow brick from London stock now hides the whispers of cattle men from a century past when candles of tallow lit the night as calf was born.
A shelter from snows and gales from the north it once stood so proud, now clad in ivy the walls and lime mortar pass through seasons of both sun and ice. Great nettle beds soften the forgotten shell that once held life and passed in every hour by Ashwell folk who remember not this yard of cattle.
Sunny Start
The Garden Calls
The bank holiday as arrived and after the rain showers of yesterday we wake to sunshine, a still quiet morning in which I sit and plan my day, beads to clean and photograph followed by a day working in the garden I'm thinking.
Tho the day will be a busy one and job list is long it will be such a pleasure to spend it in the fresh summer air, the trees now wear their spring jewellery and once again the countryside is a rich green that cradles blossom of every colour, how i wish these quiet mornings would last forever, no traffic passes the cottage nor machines working the flat rich fenland, just nature going about her business, the sound of dove call, water from the ponds and the whispers of forgotten fen tigers who walked this rich land before us.
My eyes light up with the thought of tomorrow's holiday being spent throwing pots next to the pond in the sunshine, a day with no worries or demands to spoil, just a man with his clay to form while the rest of the world passes, for the first time this year this bead maker is to enjoy the warm sunshine and a weekend of enjoyment and rest.
No trips to the coast or country drives that he longs for this time but a chance of relaxation pleases him and time to recharge those batteries that keep him fighting for this life he loves and adores, that old bead hermit who watches the world pass by while happy in his world of glass, magic and clay.
The bank holiday as arrived and after the rain showers of yesterday we wake to sunshine, a still quiet morning in which I sit and plan my day, beads to clean and photograph followed by a day working in the garden I'm thinking.
Tho the day will be a busy one and job list is long it will be such a pleasure to spend it in the fresh summer air, the trees now wear their spring jewellery and once again the countryside is a rich green that cradles blossom of every colour, how i wish these quiet mornings would last forever, no traffic passes the cottage nor machines working the flat rich fenland, just nature going about her business, the sound of dove call, water from the ponds and the whispers of forgotten fen tigers who walked this rich land before us.
My eyes light up with the thought of tomorrow's holiday being spent throwing pots next to the pond in the sunshine, a day with no worries or demands to spoil, just a man with his clay to form while the rest of the world passes, for the first time this year this bead maker is to enjoy the warm sunshine and a weekend of enjoyment and rest.
No trips to the coast or country drives that he longs for this time but a chance of relaxation pleases him and time to recharge those batteries that keep him fighting for this life he loves and adores, that old bead hermit who watches the world pass by while happy in his world of glass, magic and clay.
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