I had found Winter’s grave; I had found Spring, and I was confident that I could ride home again and find Spring all along the road. Edward Thomas, In Pursuit of Spring An Easter greeting and a glimpse of the Sussex spring. The painting featured above is a self-portrait/landscape I’ve been working on recently and
I am in the early stages of planning an illustrated ‘slim volume’ of verse with an accompanying CD. Reviewing the material, Kathleen has reminded me of the poem ‘Masks and Faces’ and I thought perhaps a reprise of the old blog for which it was written might be timely.
She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbour: ‘Winter is dead.’ A. A. Milne, When We Were Very Young The Christmas before last we were treated to an unseasonable ‘host’ of daffodils in our Sussex garden. This year the signs of incipient spring have been scarcer but yesterday our
By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world.
A sonnet written and recorded on New Year’s Eve. Two thousand sixteen is determined to leave us One last verse I’ll write while there’s time The year in which time left – oh so much to grieve us Scoffs at my efforts to sum up and rhyme A handful of lines? – when the thousands of years
So long for air to brighten, Time to be dazzled and the heart to lighten. Seamus Heaney, ‘Fosterling’ (from Seeing Things) A seasonal sonnet celebrating a magical epiphany one winter’s day in Sussex. You may recall that our autumn film ‘Surrealism in Sussex’ featured