Solsort – Page 5 – Vienna Solsort

2015-06-01

hide and strut

From a green tangle of cow parsley and nettles, a view across the relatively smooth river surface reflecting the greens and browns of the tangle of weeds, trees and grass on the other side. — edge tangle

Among the long grass where the blades

of spent daffodils complete their

cycle, the cock and pleasant hen

play hide and strut. She, camouflaged,

coy, focusing on gathering

food. He, territorial, in

blazing colours, demonstrably

alert – becoming distracted.

Agitated by the passing

footfall, seeks to warn the object

of his desire. She continues

coy and camouflaged, safe, while he

runs red and shining green, blazing

a russet trail with leaping strides

into the deep cover of wild

river’s edge tangle, where he too

disappears into the background.

2015-05-29

fluid identity

with a green forground of docks and nettles, the river almost fills the image; ripples in the greenish water reflect bright, white sun slanting in from the opposite bank; the stumpy remains of three wooden posts just about clear the water. — reflections on river

I would sing of the river

and other wilderness paths

in my heart. Always present

always passing, calling me,

leaving me love’s memories;

fleeting caresses and long

lingering closeness, of touch,

sight and scent, the intimate

sounds of people together,

and rivers, always passing,

always close. Safe in my heart,

forever present, passing.

And never that proactive in

finding, shaping identity,

I have been content to

watch it’s fluidity, to

identify with river, to

be in cascading falls,

in dying streams, flooding meadows;

to accept the tidal embrace

of the wild seas leading,

following, shaping my song.

2015-05-25

following rivers

pebbles and small boulders pale in the foreground, shallow dark river overhung by swinging branches; a preominantly green image — shallow waters

It was a strange sky;

the heavy grey overhead

revealed a strong horizontal

stretch of vibrant blue

before fluffy white horizons

extended a pregnant pause

and my ears finally picked up

the powerful beat of swan wings

so long my marker for the change

of season and conspicuous

until now, by their absence.

Like me they follow the river.

2015-05-232015-05-23

weeds

green layers, the forground being solomons seal, complete with water droplets and a row of small white flowers hanging in a neat row and the light golden green fern it grows beside. In the background my own Chelsea treasure, a dark green frothy-looking fern that grows about 1 metre high. — Chelsea memory

There are bald patches in my garden

while I am awaiting delivery

of seed and plug plants chosen, with care,

from the electronic garden centres

that allow me access to more than my

local, parochial, offerings.

Watching Chelsea Flower Show, I see

my choices recurring in show medal

gardens, ponder the process whereby

this information, this fashion, travels

like weeds through the tastes of gardeners

everywhere, linked through the media,

through tv, through blogging and Twitter.

And even as I write, they arrive,

treasures beautifully boxed, happy

plants. I ignore the drizzle to find

fork and trowel, to dig holes and to plant.

2015-05-18

wing-weaving

looking through bright green fern fronds, interwoven with solomons seal - you can just see the little rows of white flower droplets, but the water droplets don't really show up — green shower

Languid, lazy, the heavy-laden

air abandons its moisture content

on the lush spring-greenness of magic

jungle – daily, hourly transforming

brown, woody skeletons into soft

adventure playgrounds where blackbirds and

sparrows, wrens and bluetits wing-weave through

showers of dripping foliage with

keen delight, watched by a curious

robin, alert on the garden chair

and me, in the ugly mac; grey-green

disguise betrayed only by laughter.

2015-05-15

glee

side view of the pale teak Lutyens style bench against a white wall - book ended by spikey iris leaves. — legal wood

I have neglected to mention the new bench,

complete with a ‘legal wood’ tag it arrived

spot on new time; pale Indonesian teak

carefully packed, in sections, waiting to be

assembled. A packet of dowels, some screws

and a couple of bolts had also made the

journey, while I supplied hammer, screwdriver

allen key and muscle power. The heavy

wood was a challenge and the blackbirds screamed at

my huffing and puffing; disappeared when I

tackled the packaging for recycling, so

I sat majestically alone with my

green tea and my now gleeful satisfaction.

2015-05-11

hosta challenge

between the trunks of two laurels sits a bug hotel. Made of brick, wood, fir cones, logs and various hollow canes the bug hotel has old broken terracotta pots on top and a large leaved hosta infront. — bug hotel and hosta

A broken Long Tom laid

under the laurel hedge

was intended shelter

for creeping, crawling things

but when that twiggy branch

obscured its opening

the bluetits showed every

intention of moving in.

The birds are keen to share,

to harvest, the guests I

encourage into bug

hotels, demolishing

any structure not fixed

securely into place.

Keen also to adapt

anywhere not bird-house,

to challenge my thinking;

artists in their own right.

2015-05-08

camera fatsia

newly unfurled fatsia leaves, pale green against the darker green background, remind me of security cameras... — 360 security

I have a motley of black and brown

hooligans stomping through my garden

uprooting small plants and creating

havoc. Egging each other on, they

toss things about in a determined

silence and a high state of alert.

Perched on the rim of an empty pot

a juvenile, newly fledged, incites

the parent pair to greater effort

with urgent, fluent, body language

that brings an amused smile to my face.

A determination to retain

the big mature hedging that is host

to a variety of nests, negates

the effort of maintenance for this

mini ecosystem that brings such

reality, such delight, to my garden.

2015-05-042015-05-20

anticipation

bright blue sky with red cloud on the horizon and a gentle hint of gold in the bottom left corner — red morning waiting

The bench arrival has been

postponed. I ordered from a

website that did look ok

and they have warned me of the

delay, but disappointment

fringes my hopes and caution

hems my imagination.

The empty space accuses

me while I hover with my

morning tea and I take in

a different perspective

catching sight of the bluebells

creeping now towards the gap.

Creeping from the woody shade

of beech and laurel, into

dry heat of the mosaic path

passing the kitchen window.

2015-05-01

silent protest

a self-seeded bluebell among stones, grasses, nigella and primrose leaves, the upright stem spearing up from a splayed base of strappy bluebell leaves — silent percussion

Gold frosts the morning; pale

yellow primrose faint, weak,

lacking turgor pressure,

but still smiling towards

the sun. And hellebores

too lay their blossom on the

ground, but in a huddle

as if caught by surprise,

faces shyly out of

sight. But bluebell, made of

sterner stuff, lance towards

the frosty air, dangling

their silent percussion

in jaunty defiance.