The Harvest Sun

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why are the woods so alluring? A forest appears

to a young girl one morning as she combs

the dreams out of   her hair. The trees rustle

and whisper, shimmer and hiss. The forest

opens and closes, a door loose on its hinges,

banging in a strong wind. Everything in the dim

kitchen: the basin, the jug, the skillet, the churn,

snickers scornfully. In this way a maiden

is driven toward the dangers of a forest,

but the forest is our subject, not this young girl.

She’s glad to lie down with trees towering all around.

A certain euphoria sets in. She feels molecular,

bedeviled, senses someone gently pulling her hair,

tingles with kisses she won’t receive for years.

Three felled trees, a sort of chorus, narrate

her thoughts, or rather channel theirs through her,

or rather subject her to their peculiar verbal

restlessness ...    our deepening need for non-being intones

the largest and most decayed tree, mid-sentence.

I’m not one of you squeaks the shattered sapling,

blackened by lightning. Their words become metallic

spangles shivering the air. Will I forget the way home?

the third blurts. Why do I feel like I’m hiding in a giant’s nostril?

the oldest prone pine wants to know. Are we being   freed

from matter? the sapling asks. Insects are well-intentioned,

offers the third tree, by way of consolation. Will it grow

impossible to think a thought through to its end? gasps the sapling,

adding in a panicky voice, I’m becoming spongy! The girl

feels her hands attach to some distant body. She rises

to leave, relieved these trees are not talking about her.

 

 

 

Bon Courage by Amy Gerstler, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Hobbs Red Coat: passed down from Granny Penny

Breton Dress, underneath: charity shop

Black lace tights: from the High Street

Hunter wellies: from Ebay

 

 

The Soundtrack:

Beth Gibbons & Rustin' Man: Autumn Leaves

 

 

 Photos taken using the self timer on my little camera.

 

 

Just a quick post today as I'm very behind on everything blog related, but glad to be back.

More soon.

 

 

 

 I am delighted to be a part of the next Visible Monday, hosted by Patti from Not Dead Yet Style, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

English Rain

 

 

 

 

The Rain

 

 

All night the sound had

come back again,

and again falls

this quiet, persistent rain.

 

What am I to myself

that must be remembered,

insisted upon

so often? Is it

 

that never the ease,

even the hardness,

of rain falling

will have for me

 

something other than this,

something not so insistent—

am I to be locked in this

final uneasiness.

 

Love, if you love me,

lie next to me.

Be for me, like rain,

the getting out

 

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-

lust of intentional indifference.

Be wet

with a decent happiness

 

 

by Robert Creeley, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Red Coat: used to belong to late granny Penny

Vintage Crinkle Skirt: from late granny Penny

Green Snood: from the high street years ago

Red Faux Leather Gloves: gift from a friend

Vintage Red Poppy Umbrella: used to belong to late granny Kiki

Hunter Wellies: from Ebay

 

 

 

The Soundtrack:

 

Nick Cave: Push The Sky Away

 

 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my little digital camera.  Sorry about the even fuzzier than usual images - the camera seems sad about the lack of light, it can only focus clearly in the sunshine!

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

To The End Of Winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Quiet

 

 

Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing.

Where in the whitethom
Singeth a thrush,
And a robin sings
In the holly-bush.

 

Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs
Arching high over
A cool green house:

Full of sweet scents,
And whispering air
Which sayeth softly:
"We spread no snare;

"Here dwell in safety,
Here dwell alone,
With a clear stream
And a mossy stone.

Here the sun shineth
Most shadily;
Here is heard an echo
Of the far sea,
Though far off it be."

by Christina Rossetti, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

 

Vintage fur cape: made by granny Kiki for Kiki Couture in the 30s/40s

 

Red dress: bought in a charity shop, originally from Whistles

 

Red cloche hat: bought in the sale from Village Hats (www.hatsandcaps.co.uk)

 

Vintage patent mary jane shoes: granny Kiki's in the 30s

 

 

Vintage gold heart locket: An heirloom handed down through the generations.

As a child, I placed those photographs of the two of us in the locket after my dear mum gave it to me.

 

 

Beaded handbag: a gift from my aunt and uncle years ago.

 

 

The Soundtrack

Paul Weller: Wild Wood

 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my cheap digital camera.

 

 

 

 I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.