I'm just back from a rich, profound and warming experience of a week in the company of 8 other (diverse) writers and many holy wells, cliffs, stone circles, standing stones, thorn trees, holed stones and wild weather in West Cornwall.* More of that anon; right now, I'm too close to it all to be able to speak of it.
So meantime, courtesy of Thea Bailey, is a little 100-word prose poem written in response to my request last month. Thank you, Thea.
'Drenched in sunlight, they lined our route northwards, past fields and lush, rolling hills. Huge majestic beech tree after magnificent beech, adorned in blankets laid upon their dark and rich elegant branches, a fresh multitude of vivid greens. And as if dipped in rosé wine, new copper colours shone, a shimmering aura of diamond light, dazzling the thick creamy white May blossoms below. Above, stillness, as a hot blue sky melted into a golden miasma, and the ghost of a full silvery moon emerged, while a kite, her forked tail tilting, hovered at the cusp of another moment in time.'
© Thea Bailey
* 'The Land's Wild Magic' will happen again next June, 4th–10th
Walking the Old Ways : nature, the bardic & druidic arts, holism, Zen, the ecological imagination
from BARDO
The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way
Is it a consolation
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Roselle Angwin
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