Realization

 Dear reader,

The Eurasian bullfinch is a chunky distinctive songbird native to Europe and Asia, historically viewed as a agricultural pest due to its fondness for fruit buds.  Known for its shy nature and ability to mimic tunes it was famously kept as a caged bird in the 19th century and underwent a population decline int the late 20th century holding a "amber" conservation status.

In the 16th century HenryV111 viewed them as disruptive of fruit crops.  Parliament authorized a one-penny reward for every bird killed as their appetite for buds was considered a 'criminal attack' on orchards.

The species experience a significant 40% decline in the UK from the mid-1970s through to the
90s largely attributed to agricultural intensification and loss of hedgerows, though the might have shown signs of recovery since 2000.

                                                                            *

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth     March 20th  1798 in Somerset 

' A very cold evening, but clear.  The spring seemingly very little advanced.  No green trees, only the hedges are budding, and looking very lovely.' 

 

From Richard Hayes   March 21st   1762 in Kent

'This day I saw a yellow butterfly....My rooks, by the cold weather and snow, did not begin building till last Sunday (14th).'From John Ruskin   March 28th  1886  Coniston, in Lancashire 

 

From John Ruskin   March 28th   1886 in Lancashire

'Softest quiet poised clouds, calm lake in sunshine, the sound of streams from hills and the sense of peaceful power in all things.' 

                                                                       *

 

Realization

 

 

I am

part of the whole.

 

I am

in the first light,

the bird’s first song,

the sun’s first dart

through the curtain crack,

in the music of summer trees.

 

I am

part of the alpha,

the birth,

the awakening,

the growing and spreading,

the throbbing of life.

 

I am part of all suffering

hands blood-stained.

Part of love

humanity shares and

of all good things.

 

I am

part of the omega,

the closing, the last light,

the call back from the dark

to the bright, eternal night.

 

 

                                                                                   *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

violets

 Dear  Reader,

 

I thought you might like to see these violets, photographed by Jessica, in a Cotswold wood.

 

Best wishes Patricia 

Spring Fair

 Dear reader,

Country fairs originated from ancient seasonal European gatherings evolving from medieval trading markets into, by the 18th century, major spectacles of entertainment, agriculture and commerce.

While early fairs were strictly for trade, they transformed in the 19th century with mechanized rides, sideshows, and, in America, agricultural competitions.

Funfairs have been a staple for family days out in the UK for centureis.  One of the earliest fairs recorded was Bartholemew Fair in 1133.  The oldest fair in the UK is Goose Fair, a tradition for the ages.   Nottingham's Goose Fair is still going strong over 700 years later. The event started in the 13th century and is referred to as the world's oldest travelling fair.

                                                                                 *

I wrote this poem after taking Jessica to a fair when she was about 17.  She really did disappear and I didn't see her again until the next morning. I never found out where she had gone and what she was doing. 

                                                                                  *

 `From Dorothy Wordsworth   March 13th  1802 in Westmorland

'After dinner we walked to Rydale for letters - it was terribly cold- we had 2 or 3 brisk hail showers - the hail stones looked clean and pretty upon the dry clean road.  Little Peggy Simpson was standing at the door catching the hail stones in her hand.'

From Francis Kilvert   March 19th   1871 in Radnorshire

'The sun was almost overpowering.   Heavy black clouds drove up and rolled round the sky without veiling the hot sunshine, black clouds with white edges they were, looking suspiciously like thunder clouds.  Against these black clouds the sunshine showed the faint delicate green and pink of the trees thickening with bursting buds.' 

                                                                                *

 

 

Spring Fair                 

 

 

 

The young girl

and her mother, holding hands,

hurry down the hill

where the bright lights beckon,

see the big dippers hurtling,

painted horses swirling, yellow

swing boats diving, swooping,

smell the grease and diesel,

hear the loud beat of music,

the children’s screams.

 

Young men of the fair,

long-haired, dark, a little wild,

eye the girls with bright,

knowing looks.

The air is full of restlessness, of quickening,

an urgency to act

before the end of night,

when morning light will move them on.

 

Dusk falls, the young girl drops her mother’s hand,

stirred by the primal desire of early spring.

Running silently she disappears into the night, eager

to share what ancient fires of life can bring.

 

                                                                                 *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Glimpsed a Child

 

 

Dear Reader, 

In the heart of Morocco where tradition weaves through the fabric of daily life, the ritual of mint tea preparation is a story of culture, hospitality and history.

This beloved drink, a symphony of green tea, mint leaves, sugar, and water, is more than a beverage, it is a symbol of Moroccan generosity and warmth, cherished from the bustling souks of Marrakesh to the tranquil Amazign (Berber) villages in the Atlas mountains.

Beyond its soothing taste, Moroccan mint tea is lauded fro its health benefits.  Rich in antioxidants , this verdant drink is a guardian of well-being, offering a refreshing pause in the rhythm of life, a moment to reflect and rejuvenate amidst the day's pursuits.

The serving of mint tea in Morocco transcends the mere act of hospitality, it is a ceremonial gesture of respect and friendship. It graces the most auspicious occasions, from weddings to religious festivities, each pour from the ornate berrad (teapot) as a symbol of unity and celebration.

                                                                            *

Marrakesh is quite my favourite place abroad.  It is so exciting with rich colour everywhere, exotic people and beautiful buildings. I bought a carpet whilst being offered mint tea.  It was delicious.

                                                                              *

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth  March 1st  1798 in Somerset

'The shapes of the mist, slowly moving along, exquisitely beautiful; passing over the sheep they almost seemed to have more of life than those quiet creatures.  The unseen birds singing in the mist.'

 

From Francis Kilvert  March 6th   1875  in Wiltshire

'A sudden and blessed change in the weather, a S.W. wind, bearing warm rain, and the birds in the garden and orchard singing like mad creatures.'

 

From D.H. Lawrence   March 8th  1916 in Cornwall

'It is still cold.   Snow falls sometimes, then vanishes at once.  Then the sun shines, some gorse bushes smell hot and sweet.'

                                                                               *

 

 

I glimpsed a child

 

on the kitchen chair

feet dangling

legs swinging

 

large brown eyes stared

from a dusty pale face

 

she didn’t smile or speak

 

about seven years old I thought

Syrian perhaps or Iraqi

her clothes once pink and green

now mud stained and torn

 

her silver bracelets sparkling

in the sunlight

 

I made her Moroccan mint tea

offered her cake

kissed her cold cheek

dried her tears

 

I fetched more sugar

but on return I saw

the chair was empty

the child gone

dissolved in the morning air

 

                                                         *

With very best wishes, Patricia