Mab of Dream

I've been gardening. :-D This isn't a usual thing for me. I'm more likely to be found sitting in the wilderness looking at trees and such, rather than getting in there helping Gaia do her thing. I always thought that if I ever had a garden, it would be wild, with trees, and whatever the universe dropped into it growing all in a tangle. With a bit of a herb garden. But mainly wild.

Kate's isn't. I'm still up Kate's and she's had me in there planting daffodil bulbs, until I got sidetracked by some ivy. I played with the ivy and some trellessing (sp?) for a bit, then went and dug some more holes. That was hours of fun. I made a sandcastle as well. Well, soil castle. Then remembered I'm supposed to be gardening, not playing, so I went back to the bulbs. I could get into this malarkey!

Phoenyxa would be proud. Shonna might as well. Because after I'd finished doing bulbs and drumming on the flat ground with a trowel to the music in my head, I sat on a chair and watched clouds instead. I got some poetry in my head and couldn't find any scrap paper to scribble it on, so I dug in my bag and found the book that Shonna sent ages ago. It's well posh and has recycled paper inside. I've never written anything in it, because it looks like the sort of book that has to have special words written in it, in calligraphed handwriting, rather than my scrawl. But I thought on it and figured that clouds are special, so I'd bite the bullet and write in it.

I came up with this. It's a bit rhyme-y, because I had 'Matilda Mother' in my head and... no excuse... 'Matilda Mother' isn't rhyme-y. I'm not putting this up because it's good, but because it captures a moment in time and will make Phoenyxa proud if nothing else! LOL (Does Phoenyxa read the blogs? Mmmmm.)

Clouds in Brierley Hill

As those below go racing by
I look upon the clouds up high -
Sunlight tinged in pastel hues
They float on by in pinks and blues.
Turning slightly to my right
I see a phoenix in full flight;
And there, the wake of some old plane
Has twisted into a spiral lane.
Snapshot still in powerful motion
Is captured, above, a patch of ocean -
Sprawling out, the white-tipped waves
Break golden upon the halo rays
Of the sun's encircling beaches;
Down to me, where the warmth reaches,
Into my bones, into the cold,
Turning inner clouds to gold
Her hardest hue to hold.

Er... yes... goddamned hippy and unrepentent.

LOL

yours
Mab
xxxxx

PS Happy birthday Grandad. Love you.