I went out in PJ’s and bare feet to take a pic of the rising sun on the heavy morning dew this morning, and of the snail trail across the moistened glass of the patio and I thought how one needs to take note of the small things in life, or smalls as some stitchers call it.
The way the sun sparked on the drops, the crazy snail trail so that I wondered what it had been drinking. As a writer, I should be able to come up with perfect wordage but it’s been done to pieces before me and whatever I said would be cliché.
This on dew and other things, however, is a favourite:
“As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
Threaded with stars,
Scattering jewels on the fence
And the pasture bars;
As dawn leaves the dry grass bright
And the tangled weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem
On each of their seeds;
So has your love, my lover,
Fresh as the dawn,
Made me a shining road
To travel on,
Set every common sight
Of tree or stone
For me alone.” Sara Teasdale
Husband has gone to mark the early lambs. For those who don’t know, marking is removing their tails so they don’t get flystrike (a dreaded complaint on Australian farms where flies gather to lay eggs on pooey bums and the hatching maggots burrow into the skin causing septicaemia and a slow death) and de-sexing the males. All is done painlessly and in addition, we don’t use dogs to muster the sheep so that the flocks move quietly and calmly. By lunchtime, this first mob will have mothered-up again and all will be grazing, sleeping or sunbathing.
Have you ever seen lambs lying in the sun? Without fail they turn their little white faces to the warmth as if praying for a benediction. Bit like me on a sunny day ‘cept I get freckles and they don’t.
So without husband, Dog and I will head off on a long and hopefully solitary walk on the beach (although it is the weekend and there will be incomers). Solitary walks are balm to my soul. I practice a few steps of the Dance of the Knights for my ballet class. Do you know Prokofiev’s Dance of the Knights from Romeo and Juliet? As I frequently say – swishworthy!
I’ll also think about the narrative of my latest book, or a likely blogpost, I’ll listen to the soughing pines, to the waves, to seabirds – particularly the ebony/ivory pied oystercatchers with their slash of a red beak. And I’ll watch for other dogs because my Jackie is seriously anxious after being attacked quite badly. So am I, and he probably feels it wafting from me like a noxious mist.
Then I’ll take pics of flowers in our garden for Six on Saturday. That really helps one focus on the smalls and the perfection of the microcosm of nature and how delicate and clever nature really is. I am always amazed when I look deep into a flower. Are we as clever at growing up? I doubt it…
When I’m alone, there’s something about the freedom to do what one wants that is liberating, and I can feel the busy-ness of the previous week loosening the belt a few notches, the breath sinking deeper into the lungs (despite the pollen from all the wattle blooms!).
I’ve made a coffee buttercake for Father’s Day whilst OH is out, and I will muck around decorating it. This is a trial run for a bigger celebration in a few weeks. I love coffee cake thanks to Mum who was, in her time, the doyen of all things cakey. Normally it’s the sponge cake thing but this time it’s a buttercake and I should stack two, one on top of the other, and do sexy and light ‘nude’ icing (the trendy thing for cakes), but this is just a plain old single with plain old thick icing that hopefully will taste okay.
I’ll head off into the 12th century and see where Bruno and Petrus take me. I have an idea you see…
This quote sums this afternoon’s writing up:
“It’s really important in any historical fiction, I think, to anchor the story in its time. And you do that by weaving in those details, believe it or not, by the plumbing.” Jacqueline Winspear
And I have cause to know how important plumbing can be. Cheers!