Friday, January 17, 2014
3BT
A tiny hawthorn
bush, but not at all young, and long since “topiarized” into an elegantly gnarled
ellipsoid, stands leafless and grey-brown in the garden of a splendid house on
Mayfield High Street, and comes suddenly alive as a flock of sparrows,
chattering and screeching, enters the tangle of its branches and are instantly
camouflaged.
At the
bottom end of Kings’ Avenue in South London, as the schoolchildren go home,
three pairs of identical twins in a hundred and fifty yards.
A letter
from a dear friend looks up from the mat as I stagger home at the end of a
fifty-six hour week. It is a long newsy reply
to the long one I'd only posted on Monday.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
whaddya mean ... de-contextualized ? images begged, borrowed and or stolen from .... pauline at http://www.theoldposthouse.co.uk, eric ravilious, and last but never least, dame lady duchess the marchioness her rightfully royal highness, the mistress of the rag rugs, sheila evans, nominally titular queen of the gwendraeth valley
they also serve, who only stand and wait ...
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve there with my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
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