Harvest Moon Honey

Duran Duran sing about a New Moon on Monday, but today's week opener involves a Full Moon. Tonight, she will be whole and aglow with harvest offerings, as today is the Harvest Moon. I've always thought the Harvest Moon to rise later than September, so I'm always surprised when she rolls around. At this time,… Continue reading Harvest Moon Honey

Velvet, Amber, Autumn, Umber.

(Mon 5th Nov 18, 18:28.) The second whiskey-laced homemade hot chocolate in three days: it is Bonfire Night, after all. I imagine scaling-down to Borrower size, the subject of rogue experimental science and diving into my dark lilac scalloped mug, the intricate embellishments of birds, botanicals and butterflies encircling the inside rim a lullaby mobile… Continue reading Velvet, Amber, Autumn, Umber.

“Enfin, Le Printemps.”

In a blink: I closed my eyes to a world of grey and awoke, open to scenes flecked in green, Like a latent flood, slow-soaked and rising through moss, The colour returned. Negative film cells etched with fine-line nib Pinprick viridity, stippled along wooden seams; Sun-stroked tapestry unfurling before me, The renaissance The Spring. Written… Continue reading “Enfin, Le Printemps.”

Trois Poireaux.

Tall, lengthy, rigid, robust Core strength, standing to attention From flax-coloured furry foot to wild, but styled, salt-surfer tufts. The water drips upon your flesh And I run my hand along your extent Like a spine, Palming-off crushed grains of earth. Clad in fine pyjama-striped, feint and delicate green Bound together with close, sturdy seams… Continue reading Trois Poireaux.


(I) It wasn't until I saw a cluster of these, Flowers vivid and vicious That I understood the physiology behind the name 'Narcissus'. Beloved Daffodil, Sultan of Spring, You, as a reverent beauty, I've always known; Yet, seeing your being overrunning in place, Your true nature, to me, has shown. Like ebullient fanfare in parade… Continue reading Narcissus.

Spring, Ruminating.

There isn't anything, sonically, that connects me more to the outside world than birdsong. Winter can be desolate and deafening in its comparative silence: it is definitely not barren. Among the stillness, if you attune your ear, you can remark the life still abound in the season- and, some, that thrives only here- beyond the… Continue reading Spring, Ruminating.