north light

Month: September 2015

Sunlit Sunday

A path, through sunlight, through trees. Each and every time I stop and take a picture: it pulls me in, again and again, this quiet, irresistible invitation.

Only a few blue flowers remain, crinkling at the edges. In their place, an abundance of down, soft to the touch, ready to fly, to flee, to fall.

I wonder if there is a word for the gold light of a sunny September morning? Its softness, its thickness, the way it falls and touches, like a parent’s hand, like a kiss.

already turning
to seed
the dandelions
in my notebook
after this long silence

afraid again
I’m too old to learn
a jackdaw
dips his head
into the birdbath

wiping mildew
from my mother’s grave
I trace the date –
one white
and one green carnation

too weary
to ask for a sign
this feather
on the hillside
streaked with blue

forgetting
to pray
once again
the curling edges
of a dusk red rose

Returning to the Centre

I’m back from having been away.

Away was amazing: wild, westerly, windswept, with all the time you need to walk, and watch and think and read.

Here is where we return to: when the bags are unpacked, when the meditation bell stops ringing.

Here is shale bings and the drift of smoke hanging in the air above the refinery; here is the hills of the highlands on a clear day, beckoning.

Here is the cloying smell of Indian balsam, choking the river banks; here is two hours walking by the river in soft September sunlight, with only one man and two dogs to interupt my dawdling.

Here is running out of different walks and the frustration of repeating the same-old; here is heading out again with my camera in hand, and remembering the deep, intimate love of the known.

the weight of the clouds above Edinburgh the raucous laughter of gulls

wondering again
how I got here –
the cry of oystercatchers

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