Night Road Home


The night and the road are the same shade.
There's no demarcation but the car tyres keep to earth.
An ice mist breathes on anything stationary.
The car tyres roll steady to the door of the warmed cottage.
Coals orange as a low sun behind the door of the little Rayburn stove.
Boys on the sofa, slouchy, watching a laptop because the television broke.
But when they demonstrate the screen goes on and the volume works this time.
-Pah!
In a pan on the electric hob, leftovers fuse with added chilli.
A sip of cold coffee waits in a cup and a dog dreams in her basket.
Good news pings on a phone: a boy baby, they haven't settled on a name.


Comments

The Cranky said…
So someone indulged in a few too many snips and snails and puppy dog tails...
21 January 2014 at 05:53
Lisa Southard said…
He's a long awaited little bundle Jacqueline, and we will be celebrating with something more appetising! :-)
21 January 2014 at 23:20
Suze said…
The last sentence surprised me with a tender joy!
23 January 2014 at 05:32
Lisa Southard said…
We had been expecting news- still no name decided! x
23 January 2014 at 14:59
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