Mist, Dew And Bird Song
A dew soaked morning here in the east, the flat world of the fens hides under a coat of autumn mist and small flocks of goldfinch glean the hedgerows of seed. The morning mist lifts from the rivers and drains as if to uncover the water world that none have seen, reeds drip with autumn tear drops as still they stand and no winds to clean the night away just still cool air protects this magical land.
A day of work awaits this bead maker with flame to light and beads to form, another day in his safe barn away from the world of worry and stress, today again the glass will place smiles upon his face and wonders of colour will amaze him as they always do.
Tomorrow visitors will warm the barn and once more the sound of voices will fill the air, laughter as long since echoed in the dark corners of that little world of beads.
Monday, 23 September 2013
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
Final Harvest
Plums, Plums And Yet More Plums
The last fruit harvest from the garden for this bead maker, "Victoria" plums, "Cox" apples and a nice bowl full of sweetness that only a ripe dark autumn raspberry can give. As stinging nettles fade towards the ground and lavender heads dry in the fen breeze I look over the kitchen garden with thoughts of next spring in my head, soon I will clear the last beds and burn those dry bean stalks while dusk races in and the smell of bonfire will hang over the fen.
Reed cutters will load their punts with reed and sedge before the winter ice slows river and dyke and huge pike will hunt the deep drains for roach and rudd while sounds of harvest fairs will whisper in winds heading for the coast and the low sun will play tricks of light through woodland, how quick the seasons turn.
The last fruit harvest from the garden for this bead maker, "Victoria" plums, "Cox" apples and a nice bowl full of sweetness that only a ripe dark autumn raspberry can give. As stinging nettles fade towards the ground and lavender heads dry in the fen breeze I look over the kitchen garden with thoughts of next spring in my head, soon I will clear the last beds and burn those dry bean stalks while dusk races in and the smell of bonfire will hang over the fen.
Reed cutters will load their punts with reed and sedge before the winter ice slows river and dyke and huge pike will hunt the deep drains for roach and rudd while sounds of harvest fairs will whisper in winds heading for the coast and the low sun will play tricks of light through woodland, how quick the seasons turn.
Tuesday, 17 September 2013
Autumn Chill And Fen Winds Blow
Summer Ends
With every morning becoming cooler and heavy cold dew rolling from green autumn leaf, summer walks away from the rich fenlands and autumn prepares us for those cold ice months of winter. Lone chimney's start to puff gentle smoke clouds into the nippy evening air as fen tiger's glean great coats from timber chest and ready for winter, the apple harvest lay beneath wide thick branch as last potatoes are pulled and sacked, the magical flat world makes ready for another season of darkness and cold.
Rains ride the fen winds this last few days and skies of pure blue seem a distant gift that welcomed us each morning, no more the heat will test this bead maker at his flame, now cold will await his opening of the door each dawn and his little dragon will soon be warming the old barn in which his dreams are made.
Days of fun have made this week a happy start with beads of colour and bugs of glass putting smiles on faces, a welcome change to brighten up the long days that this old hermit lives.
With every morning becoming cooler and heavy cold dew rolling from green autumn leaf, summer walks away from the rich fenlands and autumn prepares us for those cold ice months of winter. Lone chimney's start to puff gentle smoke clouds into the nippy evening air as fen tiger's glean great coats from timber chest and ready for winter, the apple harvest lay beneath wide thick branch as last potatoes are pulled and sacked, the magical flat world makes ready for another season of darkness and cold.
Rains ride the fen winds this last few days and skies of pure blue seem a distant gift that welcomed us each morning, no more the heat will test this bead maker at his flame, now cold will await his opening of the door each dawn and his little dragon will soon be warming the old barn in which his dreams are made.
Monday, 9 September 2013
Finches, Cool Evenings And Apple Harvest
Autumn Arrives In The Fens
Cool sunlight shines upon the stubble this September morning, high thin cloud rush over the east as if in a race to the coast and dew covered dyke's snake across the flat droves and fens like great veins of life through an harvest desert. Finches chatter as seed is gleaned, their bright red masks flicker in the sun while beaks roll the seeds with expertise, like noble little princes they sit above the garden, no squabbles do they cause just chatter of news and eyes that never miss a move.
Another cool night has passed and more signs of season change stand out in this rich strange land, apples drop from ancient branches and plum hang in golden bunches with their purple hints of sweetness, Victoria such a fitting name for such a regal fruit.
The black berries of bramble fill the hedgerows like tiny dark gems and wild plum and bullace sit nestled upon leaf rich bushes while damson start to ripen in the early autumn sun. Wild garlic and cress fill river banks and verge and cow parsley just gives that hint of tiredness, another sign of a season's end.
Soon the late afternoons will once more give the scent of garden fires with bean stalks and dried harvest remains burning slow, the nights will draw in until the evenings pass for another year and cold dark hours will once more rule our world.
For this bead hermit a autumn morning once more brings smiles and thoughts of cooler days, no more the heat of summer will force his hours to shorten nor will his brow be wet, for ahead he knows longer days will once more be spent at his flame. And in just one week his barn is ready to welcome again those he knows and those he helps with beads of glass.
Cool sunlight shines upon the stubble this September morning, high thin cloud rush over the east as if in a race to the coast and dew covered dyke's snake across the flat droves and fens like great veins of life through an harvest desert. Finches chatter as seed is gleaned, their bright red masks flicker in the sun while beaks roll the seeds with expertise, like noble little princes they sit above the garden, no squabbles do they cause just chatter of news and eyes that never miss a move.
Another cool night has passed and more signs of season change stand out in this rich strange land, apples drop from ancient branches and plum hang in golden bunches with their purple hints of sweetness, Victoria such a fitting name for such a regal fruit.
The black berries of bramble fill the hedgerows like tiny dark gems and wild plum and bullace sit nestled upon leaf rich bushes while damson start to ripen in the early autumn sun. Wild garlic and cress fill river banks and verge and cow parsley just gives that hint of tiredness, another sign of a season's end.
Soon the late afternoons will once more give the scent of garden fires with bean stalks and dried harvest remains burning slow, the nights will draw in until the evenings pass for another year and cold dark hours will once more rule our world.
For this bead hermit a autumn morning once more brings smiles and thoughts of cooler days, no more the heat of summer will force his hours to shorten nor will his brow be wet, for ahead he knows longer days will once more be spent at his flame. And in just one week his barn is ready to welcome again those he knows and those he helps with beads of glass.
Monday, 2 September 2013
Autumn Chill
Nights Closing In And Colder Mornings
This old bead maker is feeling and seeing signs of autumn here in the fens, cooler mornings now welcome us each day and the autumn fruits slowly ripen in ancient orchards long forgotten by fruit sellers. Old apples of taste will fall on lush rich grass to lay and decay while shoppers will bite those tasteless green fruits of wax that adorn out markets, such a shame we forget these gems of our past, those families that walked before us knew their flavours and welcomed their gifts each harvest with smiles and thanks.
For me I've missed my tale writing and sights I share with you, the reasons hard to explain but now I hope to return to these pages as enjoyment they bring me and an insight to my world they give to those who it may interest.
As harvest dust settles on stubble fields and noble game glean corn from the fen soil my flame still burns and plays with glass while I sit and admire the molten marriage that widens my eyes and fills my heart. Mornings still bring this child his smiles and excitement when beads appear yet still his perfect bead will hide away until it feels he as learned enough and one day that time will come and it will be his last.
This old bead maker is feeling and seeing signs of autumn here in the fens, cooler mornings now welcome us each day and the autumn fruits slowly ripen in ancient orchards long forgotten by fruit sellers. Old apples of taste will fall on lush rich grass to lay and decay while shoppers will bite those tasteless green fruits of wax that adorn out markets, such a shame we forget these gems of our past, those families that walked before us knew their flavours and welcomed their gifts each harvest with smiles and thanks.
For me I've missed my tale writing and sights I share with you, the reasons hard to explain but now I hope to return to these pages as enjoyment they bring me and an insight to my world they give to those who it may interest.
As harvest dust settles on stubble fields and noble game glean corn from the fen soil my flame still burns and plays with glass while I sit and admire the molten marriage that widens my eyes and fills my heart. Mornings still bring this child his smiles and excitement when beads appear yet still his perfect bead will hide away until it feels he as learned enough and one day that time will come and it will be his last.
Monday, 5 August 2013
Gentle Rains Start The Day
A Cooler Monday To Start The Week
Hedgerows drip with gentle summer rain on this early Monday morning, grey skies cover the fenland as cool winds make the ripe wheat and barley dance across the rich acreage that rolls over the world of marsh, drove and fen tiger.
My hopes for a better week are strong and my fingers crossed while the days pass, never have sales been so slow and for once my thoughts are finding their way to another life, another life without beads, maybe a life away from this home we made, sad thoughts of giving up cross my mind now every day and maybe all my fighting is done. Until this time arrives I stay in my world of beads and carry on with smiles and belief as that is all I have, still I make those beads of glass that fill my kiln and still I watch my flame with wide eyes like some small child at the toy shop window.
A busy day with my flame stands ahead of me, a day of trials and experimental fun awaits with colours and forms to try and on this day a cooler barn will welcome this bead maker and his thoughts, a day of gas change and bead cleaning while the rains fall over his little world.
Tomorrow a clay day will I hope emerge and a seat by the pond from which pots will be thrown will be my work place, once more my fingers will happily play in that wet clay and bowls and pots will dry in the sun.
Hedgerows drip with gentle summer rain on this early Monday morning, grey skies cover the fenland as cool winds make the ripe wheat and barley dance across the rich acreage that rolls over the world of marsh, drove and fen tiger.
My hopes for a better week are strong and my fingers crossed while the days pass, never have sales been so slow and for once my thoughts are finding their way to another life, another life without beads, maybe a life away from this home we made, sad thoughts of giving up cross my mind now every day and maybe all my fighting is done. Until this time arrives I stay in my world of beads and carry on with smiles and belief as that is all I have, still I make those beads of glass that fill my kiln and still I watch my flame with wide eyes like some small child at the toy shop window.
A busy day with my flame stands ahead of me, a day of trials and experimental fun awaits with colours and forms to try and on this day a cooler barn will welcome this bead maker and his thoughts, a day of gas change and bead cleaning while the rains fall over his little world.
Tomorrow a clay day will I hope emerge and a seat by the pond from which pots will be thrown will be my work place, once more my fingers will happily play in that wet clay and bowls and pots will dry in the sun.
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Early Sun And Cool Breeze
Long Hours Await
A wonderful wide sun filled sky covers us here in the east on this summer morning, first day to such a great month of harvest, the damp smell of past rains still linger and early shadows shade the ponds, duck weed ripples across the waters surface as still the fish spawn. The clear waters trickle over grey rock while shallow pools are home to bathing blackbird and drinking dove while above them finches ride the rocking feeders.
Again the common sight of swimming grass snake finds my eyes as across the water he moves, head held high as long body does lasso the waters, the sun lights that wet skin to show every scale.
Another long day awaits this old bead hermit and beads of summer he will once more produce, tho the odd treat he craves will I'm sure help cheer his heart, rock and silver will find a way to share his day and smiles will rest upon his face.
Cooler days are now helping the hours pass, a more comfortable barn in which to work and far more beads he makes, all makes this bead maker a happy one.
A wonderful wide sun filled sky covers us here in the east on this summer morning, first day to such a great month of harvest, the damp smell of past rains still linger and early shadows shade the ponds, duck weed ripples across the waters surface as still the fish spawn. The clear waters trickle over grey rock while shallow pools are home to bathing blackbird and drinking dove while above them finches ride the rocking feeders.
Again the common sight of swimming grass snake finds my eyes as across the water he moves, head held high as long body does lasso the waters, the sun lights that wet skin to show every scale.
Another long day awaits this old bead hermit and beads of summer he will once more produce, tho the odd treat he craves will I'm sure help cheer his heart, rock and silver will find a way to share his day and smiles will rest upon his face.
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