The low winter afternoon sun
Zaps through a gap in the hills
And lights on windows over the loch.
They reflect it onto the dark
Shadows of the hills in water
Where it is diffused
In a blurred orange slash
Until cut through by the wake
Of a tug going home to port.
The waves of tug wash
(Pugwash at the helm nae doot!)
Arrive in white curls
At the mussel shells on shore,
The beach banks of which
The recent storm surging tides
Have deepened to thick beds
Of millions upon millions.
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Gardening
Flock of Redpolls in the silver birch tree outside my bedroom window. 
bagitha My husband is asthmatic - uses two inhalers. During our time in Cornwall, we purchased a derelict barn. He spent an entire day sweeping debris, including rat droppings, in readiness for building work. My goodness, how he SUFFERED. Ultimately said barn morphed into a beautiful wee cottage.
jeni 
for the beautiful poem.
bagitha Your second word picture is marvellous
The actual picture is marvellous too! And at ten to five there is still light in the sky! Yay!
Movement and depth bagitha, a bit special . Would love to have watched that this afternoon.
You have an amazing ability to make me feel as though I am seeing what you are seeing butternut
That's lovely, butty. I can feel the cold! A buzzard's cry is one of my favourite wild sounds.
butter a very special word picture.
Travelling through the
Rest and Be Thankful
sparks of sunlight
dance on the pure waters
cascading down the mountainside.
Ribbons of pewter grey shadow
loop across and inbetween the crags -
over which gossamer mists
play games of hide and seek.
Nature's brush dips into pots of liquid gold,
burnished bronze and endless shades of green
to create a picture
that steals the breath away...
That was a real treat to read super - and it's real treat to have you back!
super - you have such a way wiv words!!
'Twas dark on the walk to school today,
Well, not quite dark, but not light either,
But then we saw three rubber ducks on the loch –
Little grebes really, but they bob up like rubber ducks –
So we crossed over the shore road
To watch them bobbing.
DD said: They're there and then they're not there
As we watched them dive and bob and dive again.
The song comes to mind:
"Rubber duckie, you're the one,
You make bath-time lots of fun,
Rubber duckie, you're my very best friend, it's true,
Vo-vo-dee-O."
Such cheering creatures .
Then, back home, feeding the hens,
It cheered me to see
The one at the bottom of the pecking order
Rush in undeterred for the cheese 'worms' I gave them.
She got most of them
So the others could muscle in on the grain
And I didn't mind.
And as they ate, in flew
Three dozen or so chaffinches
And dodged between chicken feet
Pinching food, along with a blackbird,
A great tit and a dunnock or two.
Seeing small creatures making the most of life
Is good for us.
bagitha that was fun
I'm trying not to move while writing this - the dearest wee wren is pecking away about 2 feet from me (on the other side of the glass) under the abandoned Christmas tree. Many years ago we moved to a tiny cottage which I renamed Wren Cottage (on account of its size) and that first year we had wrens nesting in the porch. I think they must be my most favourite bird. Good thing I didn't rename this house after an eagle 
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