Creating calm

                                                
Yarn.....soft to the touch strings of glorious colour, that fade then deepen as they loop and turn around smooth metal needles. The click, twist, turn and slip create a rhythm flowing through once fumbling fingers, as stitches tumble from pointed ends. 

Needles click and my mind empties of all but the mantra of a counted pattern , beating time to the pull of skeins through my hands measuring deftly intertwining loops, that weave together in ever growing intricate ways.
From hesitant beginnings, structure is formed; a rib, a seed, a measured fold; even the most delicate of cables snaking through a mundane stretch of stocking stitches ..... and suddenly I am taken aback at what these loops and twists can do, as elvish hats for bright eyed children slowly  emerge from depleted skeins.... and my mind is calmed by meditative motion.

Grief

Grief has a complex rhythm all its own. Staccato....beating triple time; then suddenly syncopated.
It swells and ebbs as grey days seep slowly one into another, and nights stretch beyond endurance.
With old photographs and fresh memories to anchor us, we move in time to this strange music; finding solace in remnants. A penknife, smooth and heavy; that sits in the curve of a palm, or the whisper of cashmere; a final warm caress.

Crossing the bar

Even before that last breath and lingering silence, the sky mourned; sending biting winds and rain to dash against the pane; raging when we could not..... Yet it was the sun that finally called to you in the quiet of that empty room; leaving worn out bones as a final remnant of all you once were.

Later, within woven willow draped in the colours of the sea; we watched as you were borne aloft upon the shoulders of young men made boys by grief.

 Then, sat amongst familiar faces weighed down by heavy hearts and shared memories; we found you once more , amidst the warm words of a final farewell.  

Stop all the clocks....

By the lamp's soft glow 

I sit and I knit;

 a stitch for each laboured breath

you take, 

as the click of the needles 

and tick of the clock

measure time slipping away

Clock ticks, needles click; 

a pump whirs and flashes

 in synchronised rhythm.

Dark hours pass,

to the low rasp of breath

of a life not yet extinguished

The clock stops,

 needles lie still;

no longer clicking to the tick.

Breath fades 

and all is silent

All change

Fairy clocks count down the slow creep of days,'til Autumn's past and the dark bite of Winter takes a hold    

        

Wild winds have stripped trees bare; laying waste to leaves that lie slowly crisping on    the ground

In search of sheltered spaces, spiders swing from line to peg and creep inside; whilst snails slide up tendrils to nestle in curled leaves and dream 

Slugs  slip-slide over patio slabs in their slow waltz to honour the dwindling sun; leaving delicate trails that glitter in thin sunlight, leading to dark, damp places under patio pots.

In bark strewn beds, berries blush as fungi grow then decay.....

 and people pass, heads bent against rain, oblivious to their fading glory.

Autumn

 Now is the season of slow mists
that hang in hollows;
of silvered spiderwebs
strung from branch to branch
like tattered wedding veils;
A low golden sun
that flames the tips of leaves
on roadside bushes;
 and lengthens shadows
across naked fields

It is a time of foraging;
of fingers, red stained
as bursting berries hanging heavy
 on woodland brambles,
tumble through  painted hands into plastic pots;
to scent the kitchen with childhood memories,

Gulls

On bended wing they swoop low, skimming waves; 

their mournful cries a perfect foil for the jingle jangle of pier head rides. 

They are the post sitters, people watchers...

 Still as statue fortune tellers who wait, with baited breath for picnics to appear 

Then, with one mad dash and scramble they strike...

Swooping on unsuspecting chip eaters, sandwich snackers, beach sitters

to snatch at tasty morsels from reluctant givers

laughing uproariously at their criminal exploits

before flocking out past foaming breakers 

to sanctuary 

in the pitch and swell of deep water waves