Carpe Diem

Well, I began today with a determined effort to do some more writing of my book.  So, armed with good coffee, rollies, phones and ark, settled myself in the study (for study see spare bedroom!) and switched on the pc.  Lo! there was an immediate problem.  I had transferred my book onto data stick to put on aforesaid pc when I noted that the hippy in his infinite wisdom had removed Word from the pc and I was left with just notepad instead.  Furthermore, I cannot use the new editor on this thing, so I am stuck with this font!  Grr!

As I was in determined writing mood, I therefore turned to blog in sheer frustration. At a loss about what to write, I gazed unseeingly out of the window but slowly, the outside has permeated my brain.  From the window I can see the tail end of the M4, a tarmac river of silvery flashes as the cars reflect the sunlight, like minnows, as I catch the occasional glimpse through tree-lined banks.  In the distance, the blue hills are hazy and shimmer like mirages.  Closer, I can look out over a huge area of marshy grassland, empty of sheep yet full of other wildlife.  The hedgerow that separates my garden from the marsh is teeming with birds, swooping and diving in aerial games and the mis-placed pampas grass is full of shiny green dagger-sharp fronds and white punk-like mohican-shaped seed heads, now white again after the oil spill, where last year they were pink.

Inside, the ark are settled and content.  Rhiannon, the tabby and Autumn the Calico Kitten are fast asleep on the bed and VerdIGris the Iguana is basking under her heat lamps and false sunshine, digesting her meal.  The hound is outside the door as the temperature in here is unpleasant for him but his head is resting inside the open door.  It lacks only my two were-rabbits and a bird of prey to complete the whole scene.  However, I am lucky enough to live in a red kite area and they are currently swooping and keening over head, so I actually do have birds of prey to hand, so to speak.

The tree at the bottom of my garden has just erupted with birds like breath on a dandelion clock and its fascinating.  Two wood pigeon are cavorting in a flirtatious ballet and its just wonderful.

The blustering wind is moving the scudding clouds along at a canter and disbursing any that are threatening rain in a martial manner.  The M4 minnows are more numerous now and picking up a-pace.  The dandelion birds are back and have settled in a tree just to the right and I await another bomb-burst with bated breath.  From this distance, even the electric cable-carriers look like art-decco statuary, all silver and ethereal in the sunlight.

The study (spare bedroom) has been decorated in Susan Seddon Boulet posters, paintings on wood of Arthurian legends, Greek myths and prints from medieval psalters and Books of Hours.  I also have a wall full of quotes from writers on writing and all of this so that I am inspired to write...or so the hippy informed me when he put them up.  Bless.  Thing is, it would do and does but without Word...

Oh, no, the clouds have won against the wind after all and there's a steely grey ceiling over my window scene, lit from above in patches, making the whole view quite eerie.  The skeletal sharpness of the trees has somehow become more muted but the emerald green of the grass is almost blinding.  The lighter greens of the hedgerows have become silvery blue and the M4 minnows are no longer glinting.  There is an expectant hush in the parliament of birds and a definite change in the aerial gymnastics as they are no longer flying so high and only just skimming the top of the hedgerows.  The art-decco ethereals have almost disappeared now, their silver filigree absorbed by the gun-metal grey of the skies.  The distant hills have lost their blue mirage and are now starkly outlined against the emptiness of sky in deep charcoal black.  The striated sky goes from gun-metal to pewter then quicksilver - who knew there were so many shades of grey and that I could put a name to them?

It has taken me a fair amount of time to write this blog, stopping as I have been to absorb the changes going on around me.  It has been a spectacular morning, as I have been lucky enough to have had the leisure to be a watcher.  As I write, it has changed again and there is a large swathe of cobalt blue, dotted with a smudged white chalk effect.  The dandelion parliament has burst its tree banks and the host is soaring.  The tarmac river is populated with mercurial minnows again.

I pause once more to absorb the changes and, you know what...all is well in my oblong, casement-shaped world!  Things are just as they should be; the turning of the world and the progression of the day goes on in an orderly fashion.

The immortal lines by the Welshman William Henry Davies (1871-1940)  spring to mind on this occasion...

What is this life if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep and cows

No time to see, when woods we pass
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass

No time to see in broad daylight
Streams full of stars like skies at night

No time to turn at Beauty's glance
And watch her feet, how they can dance

No time to wait til her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began

A poor life this, if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare

Today, I have done just that and I am spiritually and mentally enriched for the doing of it.  I wish you all a moment of just standing and staring sometime over the weekend.