sudden gusts
of black dust
motes of
starlings
or small
songbirds
burst forth
from spidery
sycamore skeletons
waving bony
branch fingers
across the
gentle soft
grey sky
with luminous
liminal spaces
watched from
inside a
hazy cloud
of codeine
and caffeine
by bright globes
of whitest
geraniums
startling
against
these winter
hibernating
greens
‘Old stick backs’
Monday morning, nearly Christmas
Sitting reading and drinking a first coffee by the stove
Just retrieved the hyacinths ‘forcing’, from the cupboard, in the yellow bowl
They always hold so much promise
At this, their etiolated stage
Like us, searching for the light
All the blue and yellow
Like a painting, perhaps I haven’t painted yet
💙💛
(Little painting above the door by Heidi Nguyen)
I am quite tempted to leave this year’s tree in its ‘naked’ state, a symbol of Winter’s rest and retreat rather than an allusion to all that glitter and gluttony of our often over-done festival time
But I expect in a few hours I will relent and look for the tangle of wires and bulbs and the dusty box of baubles in the store room
donegallizdoyle 