Local Colour



Harvest machines squeeze the lanes, drag the cut maize to store. Maize grows fast and feral, it must be chopped fast, it is the kind of crop that might make a run for it.
It should be quiet then, down by the river, the field there is ploughed neat, lies waiting.
Butterflies: scraps of bombazine caught on thorny stems.
Brown earth, bared, corduroyed. Sky flows blue. In the hedge greens are vivid pips: the purplish sloes, the red hips.
Beyond, below, the river, the bigger river has eaten up all the rain.
Something slaps the water surface, unseen, unexplained.
At the edge, where Dog's swim sets a Mallard drake to wing, one bright thing, turquoise shining, faceted, flies panoramic.
Gorged eyes follow the field edge, the fatted twilled grass, the splay pattern seed tops. They find a spider, tucked in, patiently waiting to tuck in. It sits perfectly still for a photograph.
Brown deer, paused, cashmere. White bobs of buttock flee against the hedged green: leaves quiver.




Comments

Suze said…
'Butterflies: scraps of bombazine caught on thorny stems.'

I have no idea what bombazine is but the poetry in this sentence is off the charts. (Applause. For the whole post. :))
17 October 2013 at 05:02
Geo. said…
You know, I read this twice, then once aloud to myself and it got better each time. Few authors, Joan Didion, Mark Twain, could make the reader feel --I don't know-- beloved(?) You have that skill.
17 October 2013 at 07:31
Lisa Southard said…
Bombazine is a fine twilled fabric made of silk and wool but also sometimes cotton, and one of those words that makes me smile just because it sounds so nice. The Victorians loved it in black for mourning clothes, so it seems fair to revive the word in happy circumstances. And it is important to me that when I write, though I use the odd unfamiliar word, that there is a sense of inclusiveness, kindliness- even when I write horrible things I strive to be a calm hand to hold throughout. Thank you for your applause, I love it! :-) xx
17 October 2013 at 13:08
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

Image
There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...
Read more

Spring Is Ticking

Image
It has been a while since I wrote a blog post - I have been writing books, and keeping a diary, the days and the work aren’t lost, just ticking quietly in a corner. [There’s a little dust in that corner but the shelf is made of strong oak planks, and the light is enchanting. A plant grows in a pot, it spouts leaves. A half candle stands in a china holder.] At Paddock Garden (properly titled Paddock Garden Orchards, I am a lazy typer) a tree corral has been constructed. It contains persimmons which may not have survived the recent cold blasts and heavy rain, along with some happy pepper trees, bladdernuts, and plum yews. We plan to underplant and interplant extensively in this concentrated area. Around the grounds also we have begun some windbreak hedges, mostly of elaeagnus and hazel. We have a line of sapling native oaks edging the spinney. The first of our camping bay areas is growing emerald grass that was seeded last autumn; the second has recently been seeded; the last three need ...
Read more

September's End

Image
September is all but done. Our fingers are purple from plucking berries, scored by thorns, sore and satisfied. How lucky we are, and how grateful! Through the cold spring, and the soggy summer, we have worked to make this place more and more beautiful. We are charming sustenance from the soil with our toiling; using the present to craft a kinder path- a tree-lined, fruit-bearing way.  And so here we are, in autumn, a time of harvest, glut, and storage. A time to plant trees, a time of festival. Our lives are seasonal, tidal, temperate, held in repetitions that are never the same; variations of repeating patterns, a common uniqueness. How lucky we are, and how grateful! Pollinator friendly saplings added to  the firepit hedge, lower field.
Read more