Monday, 28 October 2013

The Storm Arrives

Winds Hammer The Fens


   After a night of rain and fen breeze most fen tigers were sitting awaiting the promised storm, not fooled by the early weather they knew better than us, reading the skies like great pages they saw the still would soon rage.
   This bead maker now sits watching the winds and rain tear the reed beds and sedge from shallow dyke while lifting loose countryside litter high into the air, those deep hand dug drains are filling and not a bird flies the black skies over the east. How right those wise old eel men and peat cutters were, beside their warm stoves they sit, another day owned by the weather they watch, no stinging rain will strike their weather torn faces this day, no punt will wander the rivers and deep waters this October morning nor thatchers reed will they cut.
   Now I see how wild this mythical world can be and why talk of webbed feet still ride those whispered tales told in inglenooks on dark winter nights.

Sunday, 20 October 2013

Damp Fenland Morning

   Dark damp soil lays still over the fenland this morning, rains fell all night and still black clouds hang above the tigers of the east, no winds to dry the land on this day of worship, no sun to brighten this magical world of marsh and reed just damp still air that saddles the droves and drains alike.
   The first few coils of smoke rise from terracotta chimney pots on low roof while wood burners glow, golden hedgerows line the fens like guilded picture frames and this bead maker enjoys his moring tea while thoughts of Christmas beads ride his mind.
   The dark rich green of Holly walks from his kiln with red ripe berry, the festive signs that start so early for the bead makers, while fen folk boat and fish for eel this man of fire will work his flame once more and beads of cheer he will give to that box of heat that glows beside him warming his soul on these such days.

Saturday, 5 October 2013

Dark Morning And Dark Thoughts

One Last Effort


   Darker the morning that welcomes us on this Saturday of October, the world of marsh and fen seems so quiet and still, no dove calls echo through conifer tree this morning and only the odd finch chatters while feeding on niger seed. How different this world in which I live has changed in just a month, gone are the sun filled mornings and fresh green hedgerows as now those colours of autumn start to litter every tree, the rusty orange signs of winters arrival with golden carpets collecting beneath the orchard branches that stand on peat meadows of the past where forgotten voices of peat cutters still whisper in the fen wind.
   The hopes of this bead maker fade with every day as his wares seem those of the past and thoughts of him sitting at his flame this christmas day just a dream, tired of fighting he now feels scared of future weeks and where they will place him, one last effort to keep his world he gives but dark it looks and maybe this bead hermit will soon make that final bead, but it will be a bead in which his fight will be encased and around his neck it will always hang, it will be my bead.