In The Garden Of Night

Moon Haiku
Moon Haiku flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

Moonlight over trees

Guiding me as I wander

Through fragrant meadows

Posted in DailyCreate, DS106, Photos, Poetry, Scotland | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Observational Haiku

Autumn Haiku
Autumn Haiku flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

As the days draw in
And the leaves begin to drop
Autumn colours shine

TDC5028

Posted in DailyCreate, DS106, Photos, Poetry, Scotland | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Silent Sunday

Croe Water
Croe Water flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

Posted in Photos, Scotland, Silent Sunday | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Silent Sunday

Ross Priory
Ross Priory flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

Posted in Photos, Scotland, Silent Sunday | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Warning!

It’s been a year since you died, mum. I still miss you, so much more than I realised I would.

Happy memories, so many memories. Now time has peeled away the layers I notice how so much that I do was taught by you. Every day there is something to remind me of you.

Time doesn’t heal grief, it doesn’t diminish it. Today, as I so often do, I look up at the framed copy of the poem I read at your funeral and I smile with a tear in my eye.

Warning

Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Posted in Family, Grief, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Silent Sunday

Adam Smith
Adam Smith flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

Posted in Photos, Scotland, Silent Sunday, University | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Jan – Sept 2025

Nine months of photos, one very day. Sometimes uploaded on the day, sometimes later, but I make sure I take at least one photo a day. Now for the next month …

Photo of the Day 2025

Posted in Photos, Scotland | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Silent Sunday

265/365 Pansy
265/365 Pansy flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

Posted in Flowers, Garden, Photos, Scotland, Silent Sunday | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Silent Sunday

Mugdock
Mugdock flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license

Posted in Photos, Scotland, Silent Sunday | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Music as Time Travel

Some people don’t believe in time travel, but I think I have a pretty convincing argument for it. Here it is. There are some pieces of music (actually, there are many) that instantly transport me back in time and space.

The Doctor Who theme tune (Jon Pertwee of course).

Instantly I am back in front of our TV on a Saturday night, five or six years old and perched on a swivel chair with my brother, reminding dad to turn the chair when the monsters appear.

Handel’s Messiah.

As soon as I hear the opening notes I am transported back to Sheffield City Hall, up in the gods, wrapped in the crochet shawl granny made me  – saved for best. Dad sits next to me, conducting away happily, handing me opera glasses. (Were my glasses broken again? Probably.)

Rod Stewart’s Sailing.

Not a song most people would associate with my mum. Yet it takes me straight back to our kitchen in Derbyshire, mum turning up the radio  as she hears it playing. Watching ToTP as a family, Rod sings his song. Mum, horrified, announces that she no longer likes the song. Hearing it now makes me smile, and I can see the wry smile on her face if she could read this now.

So there you have it – music as a way of traveling in time. QED.

Posted in Family, Love, Music | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment