An Early Quiet Start

Summer Treats Us With Mornings Of Sunshine


   Another morning bathed in early sunshine greets us on this day of June, bird call sounds out over the fens and this bead maker sits by his pond with thoughts of the day ahead crossing his busy mind, a day with his flame awaits and yet more silver will enter the blue cones of fire before him, with rock and colours bright it will mingle and the resulting effects I will glean and remember for those cold winter days.
   Nothing but the chatter of finches and far call of the dove cuts through this still morning, the gentle sound of running clear water does whisper to my ears and carp swim through weed while the sun opens up the pond to my eyes, the perfect summer start to a day.

   A happy week it has been with kiln door opening to great gifts every start and silver flashes putting smiles on the faces of customers, encased under that coat of clear crystal glass that leaves nothing unseen. Like the pure waters that fall to my pond every bead found a new way to talk, not one the same yet together they move.

 

Was Worth The Wait

For Once I Get What I'm After !


   Five full years I try, five years in which thousands upon thousands of beads were made in my flame, beads I liked and beads that made this hermit smile but never that one set I wanted, those beads that lay on seabed deep under tropical sun, beads that watched a million ships pass while fine sands pitted their surface.

   Now those wave tossed treasures have passed my eyes and in my mind they will stay, no longer will I wait, no longer will I search those blue cones of my flame for now I've found those gifts from Davy Jones' locker.

Sunshine, Song Thrush and Spawning Fish

How Lucky Are We


   The sunshine fills the fens with smiles this June morning and this bead maker sits with his mug of tea watching the spring world that so many miss, with fish spawning in the rich beds of green weed that oxygenate the ponds and the most majestic song thrush singing to the new day, how can this bead hermit do anything other than feel lucky.
   My world is free to most but lived by few, how lucky am I to see what I see, to hear what I hear and to smell what I smell, no city rush or greed, no envy to what others have, no guilt to what I do, just my flame of fire and nature in my life, a life to which my heart belongs.
   While regal cock pheasant struts along the edge of tall green barley and fast swift packs that circle high above let out exciting cries as they feed, my mind wonders to the beads of the day, the bright colours of the summer fair and the fine flowing dress of the gypsy queen, reds, yellows and rich corals all ride my thoughts and silver shimmering over deep purple collar, all sitting on natures backdrop of wild greens, the day filled with colours awaits me and once more I run to my flame with willing to learn.
 

Cooler Morning And The World So Still

A Silent Sunday


   A cool start to this June Sunday, not a breath blows over the fens, no clear blue sky to light up our morning nor sunshine to warm our backs, just a cool still start to the day here in the magical lands of marsh and dyke. While great grey heron stalk the river banks and reed beds this bead maker enjoys his morning tea with watching eyes that glean that early world that nature brings, tiny open mouthed chicks that fill their nest and fledglings that hop from branch to branch with young wings beating awaiting the next feed from beaks that overflow with grubs and fly, smiles sit upon his face as spring goes about her business and thoughts of long wooded walks wonder his mind.
   A day of work does face this man of fire today, molten glass will wrap his rods of steel and beads will form from colours of bright summer, ideas will play his mind like blue grass fingers on banjo strings, all of which he wants to try but time will never be enough and some will pass his thoughts forgotten to the next.
   His barn now empty of the old awaits the fresh start where new faces will enter the door and laugh and smile while fingers run through bowls of beads, again the barn will live and welcome as it should and this hermit will meet again those who love the glass, too long a time as passed without the sounds of voices around his flames and soon it will return.
 

To The Garden I March

Trees To Top And Veg Beds To Hoe


   Another bright sunshine filled morning greets us here on this day of June, the light breeze blows across the rich farmed soil, acre after acre of fen grown vegetables that feed the east shimmer and dance on every breath from the north west, no chill in this morning air, no coldness to sadden our smiles, an early start with wide blue skies so clear and still is what we watch.
   For this bead hermit a day of garden play does await with trees to top and hoe to work, a day with nature will cheer his old heart and the sounds of the fen will fill his ears, to rest beneath greengage when tea is cupped he will and thoughts of old garden tales told to that little village boy will once more bring back the odd smile and tear both.
   Dry soil once more lay over these magical lands that rode the damp rains of May, the fen blow will soon return on hot summer day and rich orange sunset will greet the darkness on those long evening hours. Back once more is the season of green hedgerows that hide the sweet grass meadows where the wild flower shows rich bright blooms only to those who know and the mystical brown eyes of the hare will follow your every move until you pass.
   Waters run deep through fen and marsh where reed so tall does hide in great willow shadows and a different world hold tales forgotten, no more the eel catchers silently punt or great barge take reed and sedge to thatchers, now the quiet waters ride the seasons as nature intended, slowly this strange world to some is being lost.

A Quiet Weekend

The Rains Have Passed


   After a week of rain filled days we enter a dry quiet weekend here in the fens, a weekend of bead making and garden jobs face this bead maker, two days that he will enjoy without question, his flame with candles of blue that melt the glass with magical spells and that peaceful garden that lets his mind rest and welcomes his hands to her soil every evening.
   The first salads are being harvested from the kitchen garden and plum and apple are dripping with those tiny fruits, a thousand cherries hang where blossom once stood and young gooseberry swell every day, their fresh leaf so bright and green.
   While rose buds form and lilac flowers show their purple and pink the young are fed by parents at every feeder and table, blackbird, finch and blue tit are busy while still the dove sits on her nest waiting, large clean thrush gather grub and worm and the magic call of the swift fills the evening air as they hunt the wide skies of the east.
   Every drove and dyke is alive with life, every bank holds spring young that face this new world, reed beds hide the nest of warbler, tiny nests that hold those bald blind chicks and ride the fen winds, the first early damselfly and mighty dragons hover the sedge and marshes while fen tigers welcome the warm southern sun on their backs while they work under those giant wide skies.
   A happy land of early summer we see with thoughts of cold winter month now lost and forgotten to old and young, another fresh season starts, another year has passed and once more we face the warm summer that we thought would never arrive.