The View from Here: when the words don’t come

I had accepted that for the moment I can’t write – nothing publishable at least.  It will pass.  But snippets, fragments, jottings coalesced without my noticing… into what I would be writing about if I could.

Earlier today I accepted that, for whatever reason, at the moment I can’t write.  I have the ideas but not the capacity to create anything from them.  I was explaining this in a reply to Margaret at From Pyrenees to Pennines.

Margaret, thankfully, is much more prolific and consistent than I am.  Among other posts on her blog, she provides a one-word stimulus every Tuesday here at Ragtag Daily Prompts.  She has provided three so far, each one chiming absolutely with things I want to capture.  Every week I want to respond – it just doesn’t happen.  And I was explaining this to Margaret in a comment on her latest post.  Until I realised that without thinking about it, I was writing what’s been eluding me these past weeks. Continue reading “The View from Here: when the words don’t come”

The View from Here: on an afternoon in April

The view from here on this soft and mellow April afternoon has been filled with small and simple joys

We have sunshine.  I took a longer walk than usual, striding along the top road with the warm wind in my hair, skylarks singing in the heavens and solitary seagulls hanging at jaunty angles against the clear blue sky.  I checked the wires for newcomers.  The wires were empty.  Soon, I thought.

Soon. Continue reading “The View from Here: on an afternoon in April”

Hirundine Diaries

Swallows gathering in a group for a gossip is new to me.  It makes me smile. 

54a1cfc41fb2462530c2404f48c3ddc1--bird-silhouette-swallowSeptember has gone and with it go the swallows.  I last saw them on September 15th, strung along the telephone wires, motionless against the wind and the rain.  With windscreen wipers beating a steady rhythm under sullen skies, I drove beside chains of swallow-shaped silhouettes hung like cut-out paper dolls. Continue reading “Hirundine Diaries”

The View from Here: the rhythms of life

What will be the colour of April that I’ll remember when this month wanes?

“Oh to be in England now that April’s there… “

I think Browning would have yearned particularly for April in England year: in this corner of England at least. Continue reading “The View from Here: the rhythms of life”

Birds on the Balcony: babies, buzzards and soaring seagulls

When we were first talking about moving to Cornwall I made it quite clear that I didn’t want seagulls in my airspace

The balcony is awash with babies.  A plethora of fluffy fledglings, often with soft grey down still competing with new adult feathers.  They make me think of cuckoos, these innocent babes, for invariably they are larger than their industrious parents: puffed up by their motley mix of feathers, with their wings fluttering and their gapes wide and demanding.  Life is so precarious for these infants in their first few days of life in the big wide world.  Continue reading “Birds on the Balcony: babies, buzzards and soaring seagulls”