Joys of Winter

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.

Bags

...and a hungry chaffinch?

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

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...

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

Lovely supernana

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

Annobel Methinks Rory has been led up the garden path and into the woods in order to give Tabs the opportunity to back-track. She has just emerged from under the hydrangea bush, and is happily polishing off Rory's lunch. Clever girl!

Heh! Heh! Clever she-cat indeed!

I have been continuing my hedging:

On the perfume thread are lots of scents –
Exotic smells with fancy names –
But the perfume I love best
Is fresh air.
Add to that wet earth, leaf mould and compost
Well rotted
And the smell of shredded holly and ivy stalks.
I've been shredding those today
After trimming back what we presume to call
A hedge but is really a wildlife path
That we share with some small neighbours.

bagitha Autumn is my favourite season. Today the sky is cloudless. The colours of warm spruce, teal-green firs and ginger bracken make the perfect back-drop to the silvery rocks. Magical!

Just pushed the pram along to the harbour. Beautiful sunset and the sea is calm as a mill pond after a glorious sunny day - so different from yesterday which was wild, windy and wet. We are so lucky to live in such a place. Now for a and a

Gally We have also enjoyed a perfect autumn day. Hardly a ripple on the sea. Sky is a pale yellowy orange. Thinking about six o'clock and a nice glass of

'Waves' to you all....

A Winter's day, at the shore
Sandwiches and thermos at the ready
Brilliant sunshine turned the sea silver.
We set sail a bunch of rosemary
In memory of a dear friend
Lost to the waves -
A gentle Atlantic coast today.

Trusty rug spread, ankles crossed
Sunglasses against the glare
We watched sandpipers playing dare
with the tide
and a dog, bonkers with joy in the sea.

Home with our treasures
Two empty Anemone shells
Delicate ridges radiating
In greys and greens
with tiny white dots
For all the world looking like
miniature Aborigine paintings.

How beautiful, b'nut! Makes me wish I had been there too!

But I was moved instead by the haunting play
Of The Last Post
Played by a lass on her trumpet
For every soul at the cenotaph
And beyond,
While the cormorants sat on their rocks,
The waves washed over the pebbles,
And the wind blew our hair
And our poppies.

/

_______

You'd have been most welcome.

Butternut and Bagitha for your moving accounts.

Yes, we two stood side by side
With those who felt the need
To share the sorrow and the pride
A child read her gentle personal tribute
A young man played a lament on the pipes
A proud old man stood ram-rod straight and gave a trembling salute
'We will remember them...'
The words whisked away on a playful wind that
Failed to pluck the memories from each and every heart.

Looking across the loch at half-past two
The sun has already sunk below the hill crest
Behind me
Leaving an orange stripe
Along the top of the hill ridge
Where it still lights on dead bracken
Above dark shadows, hill shadows,
And the shining loch
Which is reflecting the blue sky
For a little longer.

Your loch sounds to have had a calm day, bagitha.

Thank you for the flowers, Supernana - that was very kind.

A day full of yellows

Brilliant lichen on a rust red gate
Sharp rape flowering in a field
At this time of year?
Weak sun fighting
Grey misty sky
Ribboned with beams
Horsetails of dirty cream
The day's working hard to arrive.

Wet speckled leaves
Clumped on lanes of
Pale calcare
Sploshing over sparkling puddles
Through avenues holding onto
Their late glory.

This is such a calming thread. I come here to enjoy your verse then tiptoe away so as not to spoil the beauty of what you've written

Butternut...beautiful x

It rained overnight and the rising sun
Shone through the droplets
On grass and leaf —
What leaves are left.
Walking to school we saw
Four curlews hunting
Within a few metres of each other
And a heron "getting its butt wet"
As DD said!
Oyster-catchers squibbled and squabbled
As they always do
With the herring gulls and common gulls
Who try to pinch their grub.
Quietly a redshank bobbed its special bob
And the eider ducks conversed in "O-ooo!"

Bagitha Lovely!

Today is a day of greys
Not dreary greys, mind.
The islands stand proud - an iron grey
Against the misty grey of ocean and sky
Rocks and pebbles on the beach
A silvery veined grey.
The wet bark of ancient trees
A pewter grey with softest taupe-like lichen.
The feral cat sits upon his fleece
That too is grey -
And warm
And comforting.
My love of this place
Is warm and comforting too
But it is not grey -
It is radiant sunshine yellow.