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In Print, Violets and Sunset

This morning I found the May issue of Cornwall Today in the shop and our project has a wonderful six page write up from Kirstie Newton with fabulous photos taken by Sally Adams.

The article about our project

I spent another couple of happy hours in the Cornish Studies library today finding more images for our exhibition and our programme – all very exciting and this evening we went up to St Agnes Beacon for a quiet walk together, no-one else around and found some peace.

Violets on the cliff top

We watched the sun set.

Sunset from St Agnes Beacon

 

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A Day’s Work, Handprint and Rowers

The Perthi Kov team have all been hard at it today, costume schedules, character discussions, poster making and programme designing – just brilliant and I want to record my thanks to the team making this happen. They know who they are.  The flyers are ready for printing too.

We had supper at The Blue Bar this evening and then had a walk on the beach at Porthtowan. We spotted a handprint that suggested someone was doing cartwheels earlier in the evening. I used to love cartwheeling across the beach!

We watched the rowers practising.

 

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Stream, Dandelion Clock and Dick Davis

Once again, so tired last night that I forgot to press Publish – so here is yesterday’s post, a little late!

On one of our routes into town we pass a little stream.

Coming home there were lots of delicate Dandelion clocks. I loved this one especially, in the midst of wild Forget-me-nots.

The following poem by Dick Davis, has a metaphor which recalls for me the days when our four children woke up early – now, joy of joys, when the Grandchildren come to stay, it is they who crawl into bed with us and it isn’t a matter of ‘giving up’ but of relishing the moment! Here, I feel Davis’  simile has become those awful thoughts that intrude the moment one wakes to consciousness when the ‘mess’ of reality hits with a wallop.

6 A.M. Thoughts

As soon as you wake they come blundering in
Like puppies or importunate children;
What was a landscape emerging from mist
Becomes at once a disordered garden.

And the mess they trail with them! Embarrassments,
Anger, lust, fear–in fact the whole pig-pen;
And who’ll clean it up? No hope for sleep now–
Just heave yourself out, make the tea, and give in.

 

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Egg Hunt, Spring Flowers and Dead Leaves

There was an egg hunt going on in Burncoose gardens today. There were bunnies to be found and chocolate prizes at the end. It caused great excitement with the two families we came across.

Magnolias are still just in bloom and the Bluebells are getting thicker and deeper in colour and very lovely.

I love the colour of these dead leaves. I don’t know what they are.

 

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A Westi, Thrift and An Easter Cookie Cake

We followed a car this morning with a little hairy dog putting its head out of the window. Is it a Westi? I’m not a dog person but loved this little head and the reflection.

The Thrift is beginning to bloom at Godrevy. Look carefully at the second photo and you will see some clinging to the vertical face of the cliff, almost in the centre of the photo.

I baked an Easter Cookie Cake for next door where all the family are gathered.  The recipe says to serve it warm from the container, all diving in with a spoon!

 

 

The Beach, Baby Bean Plants and Bluebells

I needed a walk on the beach today to blow away a smidgeon of my sadness and to remind me of the beauty of nature and the life force in the waves.

Yesterday we bought some Runner Bean plants – looking to the future when the beans can be harvested.

Our daughters have been on the phone today, looking after their Mum. Talking to T, LiveWire No 3, was such a treat as she recounted all her holiday adventures and then, by email came this beautiful photograph of B, LiveWire No 4, in the Bluebell woods. 

I’m keeping next door and all their visitors fed, making meals and baking being the practical thing I can do to help – Squash and Chestnut soup, silky smooth and nourishing and a jam pan full of Bolognese sauce.

 

So Many Different Lengths Of Time – Poem by Brian Patten

So Many Different Lengths Of Time – Poem by Brian Patten

How long does a man live after all?
A thousand days or only one?
One week or a few centuries?
How long does a man spend living or dying
and what do we mean when we say gone forever?

Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.
We can go to the philosophers
but they will weary of our questions.
We can go to the priests and rabbis
but they might be busy with administrations.

So, how long does a man live after all?
And how much does he live while he lives?
We fret and ask so many questions –
then when it comes to us
the answer is so simple after all.

A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
for as long as we ourselves live,
holding memories in common, a man lives.

His lover will carry his man’s scent, his touch:
his children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his arguments,
another will hum his favourite tunes,
another will still share his terrors.

And the days will pass with baffled faces,
then the weeks, then the months,
then there will be a day when no question is asked,
and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
and the puffed faces will calm.
And on that day he will not have ceased
but will have ceased to be separated by death.

How long does a man live after all?
A man lives so many different lengths of time.

For Bill Mitchell whom we all love.
We heard later in the evening that Bill had died peacefully with his beloved beside him. Go well, dear Bill, go well.
 
 
 
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