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Showing posts from January, 2013


I am bored with the winter enough already!
I am tired of looking for the beauty in it, tired of white vistas undefined from the sky or disappearing into the mist towards the city. I am looking too hard for the mystery in the falling flakes and utterly sick of trudging through it, the sludge and slush the ice even the freshly fallen pure white snow. Bring on the year I want the summer! No matter that I can not run and jump as I used to or that I may lurch in parts through the months dragging my FMS, which is also such a bore. I want to sit in the sun like a lizard slowly soaking up the rays and feeling the heat right to my bones. I want to sit for hours while the spring and summer unfurl around me in a profusion of verdant growth.
Unfortunately I cannot make this happen, perhaps if I were able I might nudge forward the clock just a smidgen and hasten the arrival of all things warm. Seriously though I think not, time is moving too fast and patience they say comes with age. That is it …


Winter reaches down sliding through the cracks and crannies on tiny crystal slivers, in and out and round about.

Dripping from moonlight on long icy threads, catching crystals and weaving white on all the ground below. 

These pictures were taken a couple of years ago.

I am sure  there will be equally impressive icicles on the rocks this year.


I feel asleep as snowflakes floated through shafts of orange under the winter glow of the street lights. They drifted  into white blindness, clinging to the evergreen leaves and the quiet pavements, and became invisible on the thickening shroud that had fallen on the city.

I wakened to a smaller world. The ground had swollen silently in the night and the endless reaches of sky hung heavy with cloud, between the two.  Light hovered in orange halos, casting soft shadows across all that fell within its glow.

 As I woke the first cautious cars forced the day, pedestrians and cyclists went carefully about already alert in the minus degrees of the morning.

I sat and watched with honeyed toast on my tongue and pigeons cooing in the chimney while day light came and the harsh day bit.


Winter tightens its grip on the county of Northumberland and holds the swollen countryside in its heavy tightening brace, keeping the roots and seeds weak so they cannot twist and turn and push towards the spring. All things move slowly on the estates and quieter roads around Newcastle, on the outskirts of the city pockets of noise and movement are insulated behind double glazed windows and heavy doors. In the city it is very much business as usual, the roads are clear and the pavements continue with the footfall of commuters and consumers.
Yesterday I was out walking picking my way along the frozen pathways, keeping to the hedged boundaries and under the trees where the paving stones were dry and free of ice. Looking for the few snowy patches left un-trodden so the snow crunched beneath my boots. It wasn’t so bad, I thought, the ice rucked into an uneven surface was black under the thin layer of snow.
It was a typical winters’ day sharp and bright with blue skies and white vistas ov…


At last I have made it to the computer screen, I have been looking forward to this all week, a treat, a bit of self indulgence in the post Christmas dirge, but now I am here I really don't know what to say. The excitement that followed me all through 2012 keeping me vital and focused has dissipated and my mind is flat. Trying to keep upbeat in the collapsed horizontal days of January seems a questionable effort and I can't believe how blank I feel without the need to cope with the rough uneven edges of discontent.

The content in my life is unstirred and the corridors and doorways presided over by the ancient January god Janus lie empty and un -compelling, waiting for the steps and decisions that will waken them as they stand in the ether with the circumstance that will set them free. I am happy to be able to be set apart from the swirling waters that marked the beginning of 2012 but find myself in limbo hovering between storm less for casts for the future and turbulent tides of…


Alone while the night moves outside, an inevitability shrouded in frustration and doubt.
I am glad to say I am not here any more; the line from a teenage poem came to me in the night, in the waking hours that I have come to treasure. As a teenager I was caught between the two the frustration and the calm, I remember waking in the night or being unable to sleep for worries about the up and coming day which loomed like spectres in my head. Games lessons were ok unless we played hockey which I hated with a passion, or unless we were in the gym just as loathsome, anything oral like reading aloud or having to make speeches would also have me lying awake with dread.
 I remember thinking that I had the night, it was mine and it went on forever I could get lost in it or let it take me away. It calmed me enough for sleep and I woke inevitably faced the lessons and lived to tell the tale.
These days I don’t know why I wake I just do, but the night is still mine it is my thinking time, my spac…