River Cober. Penrose Estate. Cornwall. 27 August 2018


Stream. #52

 Metal blue banded demoiselle searching silently for metal green. Colbolt miniature flashing between rustling foliage and trickling liquid.

  Under the meniscus film supporting water boatmen, small brown trout dart in torpedo runs upstream to the fly hatch prizes.

  Darting Wren, taking drowned winged shipwrecks from the waters edge. Machine gun rattle as its crime is observed.

 Hirundine attack high above the pooling nursery; wave after wave of unrelenting insect slaughter. The many feeding the few.

 Red fin and zebra stripe perch appear from the shadows. Hunting in packs: shoal killers chasing their prey.

 'Black top' Blackcap feeding on bursting blackberries. Fuel for the challenge soon to come. To warmer climes and fairer days or by chance to stay and risk oblivion... 


Fairport Cropredy Convention. 09 - 11 August 2018


Gates. #51

 Winding metal track, heavy with constant paying surges. Flowing back and forth in relentless unison.   

 Rain sodden plastic, reducing individuality. A homogeneous shape-shifter, dictated by timings.   

  Straining sounds and oneness under ever running theatre. Returning faces. Shepherded by control and warmth.

  Comradarie, enforced through task and loyalty of purpose. Irritation hidden by time honoured practice. 

  Pantomime sentinels pleasing the masses. Serious faces won over by humourous glad-hands.

  Inner sanctum greetings of nods and equality. Year after year hierarchical divides diminish.

  A place within a place, unseen and unhindered. All cogs in the wheel: but driven by sharing...


Shepton Mallet. Somerset. 06 August 2018


Up. #50

Stevenson knew it: the simple pleasure of 'The Vagabond'. The next horizon; the next place to touch, the next place to leave.

 From jagged surf battered rocks to gentle undulating countryside. The ingrained hold of the sea is lessening its grip. But it's still there and it still pulls.

 Pounding spray has faded to naught. Memory of dancing white-horses replaced by rolling fields and bone-dry plough. Gulls still dance here but they're land locked shadows.

 Midday hideaway. Sheltering from baking sun in tree lined shade. Watching restless passerines slowly flitter through the too dry canopy. Migrants waiting to go.   

  Pushing though highways and byways. Stretching the ties to a broken, wet, and brutal landscape. But never completely lost; always beckoning, always calling.

 Yet more parcels of land separated by dogma and boundaries. Small mind flags reflecting pride before a fall as logic falters...


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