Twelfth April Blog. 22-4-15?
‘Evening shadows make me blue,
When each weary day is through,
How I long to be with you,
No, not mine, but a fifties song by Connie Francis.
I am sitting watching the sun dive towards the horizon, or, as the Navy says ‘sinking over the yard arm’. Still only April but the evenings are still short. I was thinking earlier that in eight weeks we will reach mid-term Solstice, ALREADY!!!!!
Boy oh boy oh boy! Get near the end of March, and the year slips away. Why does it take so long to get out of winter, when it seems to take only half that time to pass through the summer months???
We watch the buds of spring, so slowly creep above the soil, form little coloured spots, then open to the fresh sunshine. Then, in a moment it seems, they have opened, blossomed, faded. New flowers shoot up, open wide in great swathes of colour encompassing blocks of land. More so than the fragile spring blooms that come forth in ones and twos until daffodils bloom and bluebells cover the forest floor. If we get early warm weather, then it goes cool, as often happens. It seems as if sumner has passed us by.
Oh, we go through the motions, thinking we have all the time in the world. When in reality, the clock is ticking, and, what is more, the clock is ticking swifter as the sun rises to Equinox, then falls faster as it sqirms its way back down to the Equator, or so it appears to yours truly. And another year races ahead of me, faster than a speeding bullet, as they say.
Treading The Pathways.
Rambling, such a fine pursuit.
Up rocky glens where granite blocks
Bar the way. Round roving tracks, treading
On sweet grasses, pleasure unbound.
Following trickling water, the spring of life,
Where clouties hang, giving thanks for
Coursing a narrow footpath, down to the
Valley, past straight tall pines where
Flighty birds nest, or rest whilst hunting.
Breezes flow through the branches,
Whispering between narrow trunks,
Wide skyscaped views where billowy clouds
Scud across the distant horizon. Wild
Shapes that change with each gust of wind.
Flying devils, giant white horses, ships,
Great roaring lions, sleepy sloths. Or just
Bright sunlight and blue sky, summer’s dreamscape,
Glinting on deep water, Loch, lake and river.
Wild flowers bobbing. A dainty deer investigates,
Then flees, self-preservation all encompassed.
Rabbits dart, ears akimbo, watching for the
All is serene in this earthly paradise, where peace
Abounds. Walking, rambling, taking the easy route.
Far away from the city, with its dirt and clamour,
Its bustle and busy-ness. Noise, cars, delivery
Vehicles, the strain of siren brakes, screeching,
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. April, 2015.
Shutter clicking, what does it spy?
Graffiti, in the blink of an eye.
Gaily dressed women, mincingl along,
Click, click, click, like a beetle’s song.
Clacking, clucking, clicking away,
Catching debris the city displays.
Wind-caught, plastic bags fly in the eddy,
The broken lost toy, Jennifer’s teddy
Down in the gutter, but never you mind,
The lens has discovered more of its kind.
The pictures hang in the Gallery,
Crazy still-lifes, for everyone to see.
The swooping seagull, after a chip,
Dynamic photo makes cash on the hip.
Trash cans outside a restaurant,
Or coming up the street, my girlfriend’s aunt.
She’s sassy and daring, she poses for me,
Bit like a short-skirted ‘Liberty’.
Down and out sitting beneath the subway,
Scoffing his meal from a bin down the way.
He makes a fine subject, but one thing in mind,
Thickness of dollars, in tin, he will find.
The eye of the camera, sees all things around,
The silent observer, clicking without sound.
Copyright. Evelyn J. Steward. April, 2015.
Enjoy life, dear friends, and do take care.