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where the willow meets the water

a walk in the park, a picnic on the hill, there are bluebells growing in the shade, birds building nests where the willow meets the water. the wind still has a touch of winter to it, i think, pale white cherry plum petals falling like snow.

i lie down on the grass, daisies and dandelions dotted about, they’re drinking up the sun. the touch of now-not-quite-as-cold earth against crinkled coat against chiffon the colour of april rain clouds against bare skin. i drink the last of my karak tea, pull the hat over my eyes, see speckled light through woven straw sparkling, and once more, allow my thoughts their drifting, as they might decide. to love and loss and longing, and then to language and what might lie beyond all that, key to the cage or else divine diaphanous veil or maybe it’s all just easy enchantment. i’m so very uncertain about a lot, these days, but one thing i do know is that if i don’t have faith in there being some sort of guiding light within us, a never faltering flame that to those who go looking reveals some sort of secret inner something penetrating everything around and about all of this, well, that’s hardly worth thinking about.

later, at home, and i’ve a rose coloured bow in pulled back hair, and three blossoming branches have somehow found their way into the tall blue vase that now sits atop my dining table, next to the books stacked in clumsy piles, next to what is now about thirty courgette, pumpkin, strawberry, seedlings, all in their cardboard starter homes. i’ve cheese from the farmer’s market, black truffle, even, a slice of marmalade and elderflower cake, for later, and a map of the new forest. it’s a place i miss ever so much. memories of dungarees, moorland ponies, my first nursery and the cellophane as stained glass that was stuck to the segmented windows there. of the fleur-de-lys public house (haunted), of my mother’s shirt buttoned up hastily and thus incorrectly, the brown suede hiking boots, brown curls, how adorable my brother was, the ferns and the fiddleheads and the filtered light. to be remembered forever… it is a place that i will remember forever (this is so that you might understand who i am).

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