You hear the lines before you open your eyes, fumble for a pen and scribble across the notebook you keep beside the bed, hoping, hoping to catch them before the day whisks them away. But it's ok. You caught them in time. And they seem to be staying with you and you like their company as you wash your face and draw back the curtains.
The sky is a race of huge clouds, bright in the spaces. The garden is being pushed into a lean. You watch it dance as you make tea, wash fruit, prop open the back door. Those sleepy lines creep across your main notebook and you let more join them, trying to keep out of it for now.
It rains as you get ready for the day, so you wait an hour enjoying the radio until you put on a coat and walk the beach, lean forward into the blast like you mean to get somewhere even though the scene seems to move past your slow progress. It's hard work, so you climb up a scree of stones and sit where it's dry, watch the foam rush towards you. More words come and join you. You write them in a pocket book that wants to fly away.
You buy the paper, hold onto it tight. Choose bread. It flours your hands. You get pushed home even though you planned on strolling, feel the house suck the air in as you come inside.
Lunch. Change into old clothes. Head out to the edge of town. Work to do.
It's jungly on the plot this year, but we like it. Tall daisies and meadow grasses brush your hands as you walk past. Sage and lavenders are fat globes of flower heads. The apple tree is set with fruit. Sweet peas head skyward. Crops of corn, onions, celeriac, potatoes, beans, leeks are all doing well. But it's weeding and more weeding that we have to get on with today and digging a new bed for some baby corn seedlings. A foot high already. And then we'll be planting more mange tout peas and sugar snaps to be hooked around wigwams of canes.
And it's hot and windy all at once, dusty work, but you know that once you've done the watering the prize is ready to be picked before you head home. And it makes you keep going, makes you make a good job of everything. These are just some of the berries we picked today. The best red and black currants we've ever had. We also picked a few raspberries, strawberries and the first handful of blueberries.
I'm so tired, I've lost the power of speech.
The sky is a race of huge clouds, bright in the spaces. The garden is being pushed into a lean. I watch it dance as I make tea, wash fruit, prop open the back door, re-read the lines that came breezing in this morning, add a few more.
Tomorrow, I have a still life shot appearing at The Altered page. Thanks to Seth for his gathering skills and for having me contribute. Will be interested to see all the pieces that will form that post.