Wrath

 

img_3373The sky seemed to speak of omnipotence. A reminder that whatever our daily wrangles, even in peace and harmony, we are at its mercy.

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Sweet Caress

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The life and loves of photographer, Amory Clay, spanning decades of the last century effortlessly recording momentous events such as the rise of fascism, the Second World War, the war in Vietnam and finally California in the late sixties.

It could be age but whenever I close the final page of a book these days I’m blowed if I can remember what and who it was about. Even the cover, as in this case, brought dim recollection. A flick through a few pages and the prose was indeed a sweet caress. The story came flooding back.

 

Interlude in blogs

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Monday’s the day blog spots drift in like falling leaves clogging time. When it’s poetry though, it’s pleasant to kick through the traces.

Thanks to Lindsaystanberryflynn.co.uk for this Elizabeth Jennings SongĀ at the Beginning of Autumn.

Now watch this autumn that arrives
In smells. All looks like Summer still;
Colours are quite unchanged, the air
On green and white serenely thrives.
Heavy the trees with growth and full
The fields. Flowers flourish everywhere.

Proust who collected time within
A child’s cake would understand
The ambiguity of this –
Summer still raging while a thin
Column of smoke stirs from the land
Proving that Autumn gropes for us.

But every season is a kind
Of rich nostalgia. We give names –
Autumn and Summer, Winter, Spring –
As though to unfasten from the mind
Our moods and give them outward forms.
We want the certain, solid thing.

But I am carried back against
My will into a childhood where
Autumn is bonfires, marbles, smoke;
I lean against my window fenced
From evocations in the air, kickin
When I said Autumn, Autumn broke.