Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Rain falls in blue grey thick twists. It falls so loud there are no other sounds. The water-ropes fray, let loose the gold sun, the birdsong. One tractor rolls, sprays mud. It had rained all night. Drop-thud on the lean-to roof was our lullaby. Clouds smudge the sun to a silver light. Cold invokes weariness. Steam from a kettle, smell of coffee brewing. Pressing hands around warm mugs. Rain falls in blue grey thick twists. It falls so loud there are no other sounds.

Walking brings on thinking. Why do I stop to observe dead things? Because of curiosity, foremost. What is this, what was this, how came it here? Claw scrabble, infirmity? Questions, clues. Curiosity, foremost. But under that, imbued into that, a tenderness. Here is a relic of a life story all told. ‘The End.’ No more breaths, and yet? Yet more: that thing is not devoid of energy. It exists, physically. The physical world is made of energy. That connection holds. 

Went for a run, slow paced, post cough, pre-snowmageddon. Clouds huddled, gave no weather clues. Dog’s fur flared, silky waves over a clippy trot. Snowdrops shook their stooped heads, stems quivering like laughing shoulders do. Two miles, hilly, then home. Mr feels better, he makes fried egg sandwiches and coffee. We are in the office, then, attendant on paperwork. From the window, cattle are viewed, they stand, seemingly morose, hooves sunk in mud. One robin hops a branch length on the old ash, plucks out midmorning snacks. One bullock turns his chunk of head up to the open field. He follows his line of sight, invigorated. 

The moon, the sun’s mirror, keeps slivery watch. Eery eyed Dog starts up, glares at the torchlight. Trees of starlings clatter, burst into shoal. Pheasants set off clockwork whirs of wing. Over an arterial river geese call, ducks call. Cows are bleary in the shadowed fields. Boots scoot through thin mud. Ice is forecast. It seems warm for the hour, for the season. All those feathers, holding in some heat.

All the brave tryouts and the selected 'West Of Exeter' team for the 40th Anniversary SW TKD competition Things to note about sparring: Sparring is not fighting because there are rules: but it can seem like a fight, especially with strikes to the face. It is hard to be struck in the face and not find it overly confrontational. Anyone who has experienced confrontation and particularly violent confrontation may experience a resurgence of negative emotions. A good instructor knows this and will support their students in learning through this barrier. The primary opponent in martial arts training is your own self: your doubts and fears. If you want to get those under control, learning to spar can be excellent therapy. I have seen students progress from quivering wreck to fierce competitor. It does happen! Trust the faith that your instructor has in you.  There is more to sparring than the bravery. There is the deployment of good techniques. A clever fighter ...

www.facebook.com/souphousestories Busy, busy, building a platform: the strong hot hob on which to simmer wild flavoured soups. Please join me. I should like a queue. Bring your own bowl and spoon, maybe some bread, some butter. Add pictures, add words - soup, art, love, curiosities, writing, jam, sunsets, all the little incredible overlooked things framed beautifully - we will hang them on the walls of the virtual soup hall. 

Anointed with rest. Slow, succulent: the dark of each eye widens, tidal; in pours precious light. All senses connect, recline, spill joyous as a hot tub with too many people in it. Heat in the dust of the throat, where the cough tugs through. Honeyed and spiced, fruits and milks pour solace. Solitude; everyone else is at work but not me. There is me and the dog and this sofa and a book. In the afternoon we felt the sun on our faces. A white gold welt all the way from the centre of our universe. Somewhere in the Rayburn potatoes bake. Salted, oiled, affordable. Steam from green leaves whispers under a pan lid. Cobwebs have gathered dust: Hausfrau Spiders live here. Sleep gathers, is caught in blinks.