Tag Archives: morning

I used to be a railway…

I  used to be a railway

I used to be a railway...
I used to be a railway…

Down my gleaming silver ribbons

Dashed carriages and steamy, gleamy engines

Carrying dainty painted crockery

Sacks of sweetheart’s kisses on envelopes

Crates of polished apples

And sons off to war.

I used to be a railway

Past my gleaming silver ribbons

Toiled doughty men of clod and clay

Turning earth and tilling the day away

Waited those men of clod and clay

Willing the train to come and

Carry them off to war.

I used to be a railway

On my gleaming silver ribbons

Those powerful chugging engines worked and

Brought cloth to swaddle baby

Black lace to trim the clothes

Of the mothers and mourners

And the shrouded shells of sons home from war.

I went for a walk this morning, looking for something. Over the humpy bridge built by the original inhabitants of my cottage. Down the side, under the bridg I visited this liminal place. The tracks are gone but the ghosts remain. I was filled with thoughts of what had been carried up and down the line and the words above were there, waiting to be plucked out of the air like a ripe apple.

I found some wood for the fire too.

What have you found today?

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From the morning…

One misty, moisty, morning, When cloudy was the weather, There I met an old man All clothed in leather All clothed in leather, With a cap under his chin. How do you do? And how do you do? And how do you do again?
One misty, moisty, morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
There I met an old man
All clothed in leather
All clothed in leather,
With a cap under his chin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do again?

I have started using the morning as a time to go and find something new.

Light the fire, kettle on and this gives me a rough sense of time to focus upon.

The kettle will simmer away happily but will will take at least fifteen minutes to boil.

So this gives me a certain amount of freedom, with a constraint, guided by my thirst.

I walk the lanes, looking for something. It could be a branch that will go on the fire; it could be a handful of berries, some rosehips; a pretty stone; or a photograph. It could be an idea for a song or a poem or artefact.

This morning was misty and ever so still. I turned right out of the door and headed for the lanes.

The air was light and the light was thick. My breath invisible, just like the end of the lane, hiden by the sepia fog.

I decided to go and say hello to the old windmill. Then I walked on, looking at the flowers in the verge, hearing little birds flitting and foraging for breakfast.

I found this scene to photograph, then I went home and the kettle was bubbling away, ready for a cup of tea. As I was uploading the photo, I searched for poems about mist and I discovered the old nursery rhyme above. So that was two new things this morning and a clear head.

What have you discovered recently? I’d love to talk about it with you. The kettle is always simmering on the fire for a cup of tea.