Friday, 18 November 2016


Big birds, snowy white, graceful with the stooping neck - beautiful. 
Often in pairs,  they  paddle, feed and tend their fluffy grey cygnets with calm serenity.
Take off, on the other hand, requires valiant effort. The massive birds walk on water until they're aligned for flight. Landings are splashy concluding with tidy wing folding and the assumption of an immediate regal poise. 
But it is when they fly with the neck outstretched straining forward that the wings beat a wild sound that cries freedom. 

Tuesday, 1 November 2016


Walking in the Quantock hills I glimpsed a pool from the path - dark, peaty, almost black. 
Autumn leaves released from the trees above floated on the mirrored surface banking up in the mud.
Leaning in from the edge to avoid wet feet. I couldn't see myself, but saw a perfect reflection of the world above.
The warm, late October sunshine, smell of earth and decaying chlorophyll complemented the vapour-trail blue sky and created a canvas of stillness.
A child might test the surface of the water and disturb the fragile balance of perfection - I held my breath.
Wendell Berry's poem The Peace of Wild Things comes to mind.