ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

Yesterday I reached, with a certain amount of luck, the age of 67 years and I keep on asking myself where has it all gone? I had a cracking day and just after I had downed my first cup of tea I was having a conversation with one of my grandsons before he went off to school. For me that set the day of, very nicely. I had some writing to do and I did get on with that but I am still working onto the ending of this 4000 word story. Will it be good enough? Michelle went off to the gym and then came back with a bottle of red. We opened it, of course, and it made a pleasant lunchtime and a break from trying to put a story together. Maybe that it is why time flies by! We then finished the day off by visiting a local restaurant and having some really good food.

The previous Saturday we saw swallows passing through and then on 21^st I went up to the eagle owl site and it kindly obliged. There seemed to be plenty of activity and we suspect there is young to be fed. Today, while downing a beer in town I saw the first sand martin of the year. It was paying regular visits to an old nest. There might be a chill still in the air but birds are on the move.

That reminds me for I wrote a poem called ‘chill’. It came from a theme mentioned in a writing mag. And then I got thinking about my bedroom when I was a child. It’s really reminiscence and going back into memoir mode-but here it is.

CHILL

Eiderdown, white cat, cold linoleum

internal images reflect on the scene
that was once a smaller place.

Moon shine, star light,

white answering frost provoke
shadow through the window pane

throw straight edges on to the wall,

gleam comes off the glass bowl:
picks up the memories,

focuses them in. I hold them in
my palm, everywhere I go they
glance up, to remind me                          

of winter wind, creeping cold,
frost patterns on glass of 
the sliding window on worn runners

that chatter, share with the wind,

their rattle of combining tells
volumes in nature’s tongue

I speak their tittle-tattle to the same

rhythm of the resonating wood;
a reminder of togetherness

On cold nights they never ask ‘can you recall?’

knowing that I am inside the room; to talk,
share what is being said, just the three of us.