Flood

Flooding in town last night. We were out for dinner at a pub, rather inauspiciously situated between the canal and the river, celebrating a friend's 60th, a five month old baby of the company. It had rained hard, at times torrentially all day, but it was only over the pudding course that it became apparent what was happening outside - a waitress came and told us the road was closed a short distance away... rather swiftly we realised it was time to leave, and literally paddled, ankle-deep in fast-moving water, which seemed to be overspilling the canal, to the road, crossed, and were able to take a circuitous route to avoid the flooded part of the main road. Further on we had to divert again - fortunately we know all the little back ways and steps in town... but walked without problem down Bridge Gate, where the roiling brown river looked all set to burst its banks but had not yet done so. Our other friends, including the baby, were in cars and had various adventures. The three with the baby never got home at all, but had to stay the night with friends, the others found their way to the next town by the top route. L and I walked home through the torrents, arriving safe and extremely wet and windblown around 10.00. About two hours after we walked through town, the whole town centre was under water, so rather fortunate that we left when we did or we too would have been knocking on friends' doors. The Handmade Parade has been postponed, and the organisers are hoping to get the go-ahead for next Saturday. It is to be hoped the park will not be under water by then...

Wet

The clouds are climbing down from the sky on long wet legs. The wind whistles in the chimney, tugs and tosses the clematis flowers in the garden. L makes sugar syrup for the bees.

Summer Solstice

...and I've had the heating on. Mac drying on back of chair again. Handmade Parade on Saturday - praying for an hour or two of clear sky.

Home

Home is where the knives are
the sharpest and the bluntest
in the drawer together
this one covered in honey
as you stand at the kitchen window
chewing and drifting into thoughts
about the knife drawer
and the sullen sky
that feels like an affront
as if weather were behaviour
perhaps revenge,
and something else about the knives
where they stand, handles up
in the drainer, ready
for cutting or spreading
something else - home is where
you help yourself, right?
To toast and honey, or an apple
and don't have to ask,
and again the rain.

June

Curlews with curved bills, flying over the fields. Their trembling call seems to travel apart from their bodies. Sometimes they permit us to see as well as hear them.
Yellow and orange Welsh poppies in the verges, and here on our little lane the huge red poppies are points of fire against the green.
The sulky sky refuses to let the sun through for more than a few moments each day.

Fragments From A Holiday

Old buoys on fraying green rope, attached to a wood and chicken-wire fence. A green shining field and beyond it the sea which I sense more than see, bleeding into the pale sky like milk mixed with ink. The sun is hot on my arms and chest and head, the breeze cool. Birdsong and the bleating of sheep. A fly buzzes past. The wind rustles the leaves of the lichen-covered sycamore with the wooden seat built around its trunk. A black crow flies across the field, cawing like a crow in a story book.

The combination of the weather - hot - the cottage - spacious, comfortable and well-equipped - the garden - full of birds and many different spots for positioning garden furniture in just the right amount of sun or shade - and the fact that Porth Ysgo with its sandy and rocky little cove, visited by almost no one, is just twenty minutes walk from the cottage - the combination of all these factors makes for a perfectly relaxing and enjoyable holiday. The air is wonderfully clear even when the sun is at its hottest. The road is lined with hawthorn, red campion, cow parsley, foxgloves, Jacob's ladder, vetch, bluebells, navel wort and many flowering grasses, which seem to be making L sneeze.

The road to Pwllelhi is a green tunnel, light just flickering dimly through the glossy leaves, like a road through the woods I was driven down every summer of my childhood.

What I've Been Doing

We're home from sun-drenched Wales, and it's so cold I'm back in socks, long trousers and jumper! More when I have re-entered everyday life...