Jar of Dirt

Poetry and musings

A road, fields rising to small hills;

fields falling to a river and to woods;

rain more oftener than not; a curlew fills

the silence with his single word,

the soft land drinks it in.

Indifferent cattle browse, crows

blow like black plastic, flop and bounce,

in search of pickings – ones and twos,

harsh callers, rags and bones,

all hard nosed scavengers

Mud-booted, following water under trees,

we watch a grey and yellow

feathered wagtail please

itself, drifting in the flow

of small ephemera, feeding.

Winding back at dusk, the windscreen

catches clouds no bigger than

my fist: starlings between

life and sleeping.

They are gone

with one turn of the wheel.

Just a poem written a few years back, called Sunset. I quite like writing, but don't have much time to devote to it at the moment. Every so often, I do take a few minutes just to sit down and manage to jot an idea, or rough draft out, but usually, ideas just stew silently in my head, with the plot bunnies shouting ever louder to be let out.

I keep a journal. Don't write in it day to day, since...well, nothing much really happens at the moment. But every so often, say once or twice a week, I do jot something down. It can be a poem (like above) or an observation from what I've been up to during the day. It's fun, sometimes, just to jot down what I've seen on walks, or taken photos of.