Ancient grey stone bridge
Spans the smooth flowing water.
Sun shining white on frosted grass
And curved necks of swans
Reflected in the river’s mirror
Under timeless gaze of historic towers.
This picture is a famous view of Wimborne Minster where I live in the south of the UK, taken by well known Dorset photographer Roger Holman. Today as I drove to an early appointment the view easily matched the beauty of his photo. Timeless…
I wake to view
White crystals on the window,
Ice flakes fluttering silently,
Transforming to drops, dripping
Small hanging jewels
And moisture condensing in the air
Drifting, floating foggily to the sky.
From my window I see water, in three states of being, solid, liqiud and gas. Frozen snow, dripping drizzle and condensing steam from the boiler outlet, all exisitng together and in a constant cycle of transformation. It made me think how often I assume that my state of being is the only one there is! Who knows what other states of being are present with us right now… and how we too may be being transformed. Perhaps that’s a bit philosophical for a cold Monday morning! 🙂
Cold air, grey sky
Bare branches lift skeleton fingers.
Still lane, noisy trees
Flapping wings break brittle twigs
Hidden birds, clear sounds
Trilling tunes twitter in icy air.
A walk to the local shop to buy more milk, on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Two hands touch
Each feel the warmth of the other.
One still strong, fleshy and firm
One weak now, clawed, skin stretched
Over old bones.
They meet without words
And speak of a lifetime.
A special moment in the hospital today.
You sit on my bed, and wait for me,
Ready to soothe, and comfort me
With your soft squashy fur
For holding and hugging.
We met in the high Rocky mountains
Black bear from wild horizons
You came from adventure territory
To be my cosy, cuddly companion.
It is quite incongruous to think that my most intimate of cuddly, soothing, comforting “transitional objects” comes from the wilderness of forest and mountain, and sleeps on my bed! 🙂
Spiral patterns and softly pointed curves
Sitting quietly on my windowsill
Once you housed a deep sea creature
Now you are open to voices
Pouring out waves of emotion
Highs and lows, crashing and breaking
In gentle murmers.
I lift you to my ear and listen.
This shell sits on the window sill of my counselling room. As I noticed it today I thought of how it is said shells hold the sound of the sea, and I wondered just what I might hear stored in this shell.
Heathland stretches drab to the misty coastline,
Silver ridged bark and black twiggy branches
Outlined against a steely sky
Grey scale landscape
Spiked with snatches of yellow gorse
My drive aross the heath this morning was a reminder that there are flashes of colour even in the drabbest of circumstances. I just sometimes miss them 🙂