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Notes on the turning of the wheel
Jul. 16th, 2010 08:57 amFields blanketed in a soft silver coverlet of a hundred thousand dandelion clocks. As my Dad and I walk along the dirt path by the woods in the evening sunshine, eddies of tiny parachutes stirred up by our feet dance around our ankles.
Carpets of eye-bright bluebells in the soft slanting light filtered through the beech trees.
On the first hot day of summer, I lie in the grass in the shade of the pear tree. Without my glasses, the bright scraps of sunlight between the leaves are changed into heavy golden fruit hanging from the tree.
As we drive on motorways, crowds of oxeye daisies cheer from the stands.
I eat my cereal on the steps outside. Pico is rolling and purring in joy at being stroked in the bright morning sunshine. A couple of escaped cosmos flowers bloom in the gaps between the paving slabs.
Cornfields are struck bright gold by an invisible sun as thunderous grey clouds hang overhead, so for a short time, the roles of sky and earth are reversed.
Carpets of eye-bright bluebells in the soft slanting light filtered through the beech trees.
On the first hot day of summer, I lie in the grass in the shade of the pear tree. Without my glasses, the bright scraps of sunlight between the leaves are changed into heavy golden fruit hanging from the tree.
As we drive on motorways, crowds of oxeye daisies cheer from the stands.
I eat my cereal on the steps outside. Pico is rolling and purring in joy at being stroked in the bright morning sunshine. A couple of escaped cosmos flowers bloom in the gaps between the paving slabs.
Cornfields are struck bright gold by an invisible sun as thunderous grey clouds hang overhead, so for a short time, the roles of sky and earth are reversed.
