Darkling day is creeping towards dusk.
My ageing feet, stiff with years and fallen tears
are cold….. cold like milk in glass bottles
left outside to stay fresh when mum had no fridge….
My feet were cold then but the open fire
I used like a mirror, sitting in front of it
till legs bright red, ached…. unforgivably.
Thoughts of a cold bed, closed door
and gut twisting shadows, would mangle in my head.
Then, in light of a frost laden morning,
curtains yanked back with ferocious frustration
and single glazed, iced over windows
blasted open, “for air”….
“come on, get up” richoceted in my ears
and placed my bare feet on cold, Marley tiled floors…….
Today’s cold floors are met with slippers,
when alone, no one barks except the cat for food…
and I light the fire, my lovely hearth, myself.
It’s all ok, for the mother in me
now understands better the mother in her…..
It takes time, all this and Time…..never ceases to move;


The Big Dying


Very cold morning
my body ‘Goose bumps’ and shivers…..
car white with sleek patterened frost.
Fields a grey-green glimmering, shimmering light….
Skies shining – airy crispness singing…..
Golden beech leaves hanging on
like jewels dangling in the wintery light.
I layer up, pull on my boots
as I listen to a Reith lecture on
the ‘great unfixables’ –
ageing and death.
Perhaps we look too hard to
avoid ‘the big dying’
for Nature’s wisdom knows
regeneration comes.
There is no end but only
the cycles of the Natural world…..
So, I see Spring when I look into
this icy day and say:
“YES…. This is how it is for me…..”


The Frisson of Health


The Frisson of Health

The Frisson of Health

This morning’s chill sits stark upon my feet.
Iced with purple blotches along my naked toes,
air shards embed to the bone and my skin
wants to peel off, like shavings from the
woodcarver’s lusty, voracious knife.
Yet, this IS my amazing life.

We stand here naked,
unprotected from the scrimmages of the world
with our bottoms bare for the beating.
Still, even so……
somewhere along this varigated journey,
precious souls cover our pain of nakedness
with petals from glorious flowers
of wild hedgerows, fields and hills.
These too embed themselves in us…..
as we find the longed for, frisson of Health.

Dedicated to my dear Sister of the Soul, Yaz McCallion

November ~ The Mighty Closing In


November ~ The Mighty Closing In

November ~ the Mighty Closing In

The beech lights bright the dulling day
where spacious sun flirted and fanned its rays
across cold morning dews a short few hours past.
This year I see myself through a multi petalled portal
as I count the moments toward winter’s solstice
when, they say, the light returns…
and then my little monkey mind spins thoughts
of dark, dank January and February …..
yada yada yada…..
If I were a were a scholarly Owl
it wouldn’t ruffle my proud posh feathers one little bit…..
yada yada yada……