All posts tagged: springtime

maritama

the imperceptible weight of light, i learnt as a little girl that the only proper way to count time, in the middle of may, is with dandelion clocks. cheeks pink as sea thrift, wishes on the wind. perfectly proliferous pappus, parachute, plume, they’re at their prettiest in the evening, floating gold filament and feather. sometimes in the springtime, even just the sight of them feels a sweet and simple glimpse of forever. Advertisements

the gods and the grasses (may diary)

we are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs have bred forth, not pale solitary doves but eagles golden-feathered, who do tower above us in their beauty, and must reign in right thereof; for ’tis the eternal law that first in beauty should be first in might somewhere between the gods and the grasses, the horse-chestnuts are flowering. the trees are all in candle, lemon curd and blush, and each inflorescence illuminates in the storm scattered light that rushes above us. brilliance brushes branches. eventually, each bloom will transform into their own conker, in the autumn, when the countryside once again grows cold, mist-covered. but, for now, it is May! and a showy clematis is climbing up the trellises of the thatched roof cottage, with the stained glass roses, to whom this garden belongs. and, at the bottom of the hill, if you will, you can scramble over a fence, hop over a stream, and then, you’ve found your way to the edge of the woods. dandelion wishes, ginger beer in glass bottles, i’ve a picnic, …

silver bells and drooping stars

the fading constellations are far away freckles, the dawn stretches the night’s skin thin, draws the curtains on the last of the cascading lyrids. and then, a circling chariot. the light turns to amber, dripping gold, it’s a honey-speckled morning. the clouds are silver lined, a revolving speedwell rising. i’ll bundle blackthorn, hang hawthorn at the door, light and dark brought together and then tethered, perhaps they’ll bless the coming year. their petals are as delicate as mulberry silk, they’ll tear between my fingertips. i’ve silver bells, and drooping stars, and the wind is carrying along with it May, which is now weaving its whispering way through the wavering wisteria that has draped itself all over my neighbours house. sunshine, showers. an oak leaf umbrella offers supposed shivering shelter from the rain. i spot bluebells like lanterns strewn about in the shade. do you see how springtime sings life into colour, pulls at the seams of things, stirs skeletons from slumber? puddles and gutters become silvery streams and tributaries, or else tiny swirling storming seas, …