Joys of Winter

Lovely supernana

Bonfire smoke reminds me of my dear Mum; it is a wonderful scent of Autumn.

Lovely evocation of Autumn, super. Nice touch about the randy tom!

A slow, shuffling walk through carpets of crisp, burnished leaves
Catching the drift of pleasing of bonfire smoke
Watching the feral cat as he soaks his fur in the warm sunshine
Inches away from countless chaffinch, thrush, two robins and a host of tits
Happy to live side by side
Occasionally preening himself
And now I know why -
Pretty feral tabby cat saunters by
Shares some of his food
And together they leave under the hydrangea bush
Through the gap in the fence
And disappear deep into the heart of the dappled forest...

Perhaps , but I haven't seen him again. Maybe he found his pals! There usually a largish flock about.

...and a hungry chaffinch?

Bags

My day so far has been
A pink cloud dawn and orange sun,
Inspiration for a new temari ball!
A journey to the orthodontist,
DD, a young eleven,
Reading The Times leaders on the train.
She wants to be a writer (or a duck).
Silence for two minutes in the station
As we waited for our return train.
A high spring tide and a strong east wind
Busting a mooring rope
And washing a boat up against the sea wall
Half sunk.
Waves, WAVES, in our wee quiet loch,
Spindrift spray across the road,
And lenticular clouds above the mountains
As we drove the last leg of the journey home
To hungry hens.

Thank you supernana.

Butternut ...beautiful.

A mischevious breeze
teases the sea
Wavelets chuckle on the shore
The Sandpiper weaves his way
between the shimmering rocks
Looks to the milky, Autumn sun
and blesses the day...

A swooping hen harrier
Kept me company
As I walked
Damp and tired
Across a sea of winter wheat
My head lifted, my shoulders straightened
I waved hello
With a refreshed spirit

The Horse Chestnut belongs to my neighbour, bagitha, and is completely without leaves. Unfortunately, many of the horse chestnuts in this part of France, and other areas too, I believe, are all very slowly dying from the disease caused by a moth. There is no cure. As a consequence, the leaves turn brown and fall during the summer. It's so sad to see.

I saw a programme on tv not long ago saying this disease had reached England.

I'm hoping the mistle thrust has not deserted us so soon after arriving. Last year she stayed for about a month.

supernana - It's always so lovely to be welcomed home!

bagitha I enjoyed your Chaffinch tale and Butternut's too.

During our time away
from this our lovely home
I often gave a thought
to Rory - would he roam
far, far away into the forest dense
Return to secret dwellings many miles from whence
he came upon a wet and windy day
to find a place of cheer
with those who care that he may live a kinder, happier year.
The car pulled in
and I walked round
to find that he had gone...
and then,
from under shrubs not far away
I heard a comforting sound -
rustling leaves
dulcet purrs
and
there he was
a wild creature winding himself around my legs
as if to say...
'Oh! There you are. Welcome Home'...

Love your word picture too, butternut. Is your horse chestnut tree bare now? I was just noticing this morning that the one nearest to us, in someone's garden near the shore, still has leaves mainly on the seaward side, which rather surprised me.

Does your mistle thrush go somewhere else for winter too?

DD1 is finding out about lichens. She wants to use some to make dye for wool. She's especially looking for crottle (I think it's called).

Yes, I've posted a pic on my profile.

Did you finish your temari?

Oh my goodness, that's lovely.

Our Barn Owls have now departed
For their winter roost - I wonder where?
No more splat and splash
Dripping off the car

No speckled mistle thrush
To watch and ponder upon
This blue skied morning

With my Mother's old fork
I gather in the last of the late potatoes
Throwing the tops onto the compost
To join a family of puffballs, bright white

Looking up, the proud old Horse Chestnut
Throws her laced branches against the sun,
And the terracotta tiles on our garden wall
Speak of age
Litchen yellow, grey and green

.....and the buzzards cry
.....and my heart sings

In a quiet voice I have been talking to a chaffinch
Who landed less than a yard from my feet
Outside the back door.
He'd seen me feeding our youngest hen
Who is still laying eggs under the mint leaves
In my herb garden.
She came for breakfast number two.
Chaffinch flew into our wash-house
Where we keep the hen food in enamelled bins.
When I followed him, there he was
Settled in hubby's new left shoe!
"You can't stay there, silly bird!"
But stay he did.
I put away the garden tools,
Leaving the door open for him to fly out
While I pottered with rake and hoe to the shed
And wound up the shredder flex.
He stayed, resting his beak on the shoe tongue,
Looking very comfortable.
Hub will not be pleased
With bird poo
In his shoe!
So I got a tea towel
To encapture bird and shoe and all
And carried him out away from the house.
It took some persuading
To get him out.

I was going to write about the buzzard calls
(so wild! I love that sound!)
That woke me up this morning
But a wee determined bird
In a new shoe
Beats all.

PS my 'rest' consisted of finishing an autumnal temari which I will photograph in daylight tomorrow and post up for youse (sic – local dialect) to see. When I began sewing I didn't think it was going to work with the colours I chose but it has.

Thank you both . I do like drawing word pictures. Mistle thrushes, wayward or not, are very nice. I heard some Fieldfares flying past with their recognisable "chr" on my way back from school this morning – another sign of approaching winter. I like them but DD2, who worked in Sweden for a while, said they are a right pest there, mainly because they are so noisy I think. Handsome birds though and very 'thrushy'. I like Ted Hughes' poem Thrushes — at least, I like its power and intensity, but I think he seems almost overawed by and afraid of life sometimes.

I completely agree, grannyactivist , and hope bagitha you are rested and well this evening.

I think my rather poor attempt at a way with words went wayward this morning - as I wrote that whilst watching the winsome mistle thrush wolfing down her breakfast...

bagitha you definitely have a way with words and the soul of a poet. Thank you for sharing both.

We only see mistle thrushes rarely too, butternut. hope you do!

Today is a day of conflict
Between the mist and the wind.
The mist would lie and soften and obliterate
But the wind will not have it
So we have a half-way grey.

It is the half-way grey
Of a herring gull's back
As it falls off a lamp-post
And glides down
To pinch a mussel, if it can,
From an oyster-catcher.

The gulls and the crows open the mussels
By lifting them to a certain height
(The right height or they waste fuel)
And drop them on the pebbles.
They swoop and gobble.

Today is a day of conflict
Between my desire to work hard in the garden
And my daft lungs' propensity to stack up problems
For later.
So,
Brambles, ivy, buddleia branches and spiraea,
A shredder, a rake, an angled hoe, and a hedge-cutter,
Sodden gloves and twelve inhaler puffs later,
We'll see...

The fallen yellow cherry leaves
Adorned and cheered where I worked
And when I walked away
A robin, a dunnock, a blackbird, and five chickens
Went for the worms .

Across the tiny lane
Viewed through my study window
An ancient apple tree stands covered in mistletoe
And a brave cream hollyhock still smiling at it's feet

I've often wondered when she'll come
to feast again this year
A beautiful mistle thrush
taking breakfast

I think we would have had frost the last couple of nights, elderflower, but for the mist which, while it feels really cold, does keep the really really cold air up high rather than low down. Does that make sense?