I love this time of year when the hedges burst into life ,The daffodils and snowdrops are a thing of the past and the primroses are beginning to fade .In their place come greater stitchwort,buttercups,bluebells,red campion and a whole lot more beautiful flowers.The white ones below are greater stitchwort In the past I have followed the tradition here of picking dandelions for making wine on th23rd of april as it is St Georges day.I'm not completely sure of the reasons but they do always seem plentiful on this day.I used to make a lot of hedgerow wines but don't seem to have much time these days (crap excuse i know) At least this year i photoed some on the right day,the yellow ones below
A gang of Jack in the hedge,still young ,not teenagers yet. These can be eaten young and used to be popular,
New leaves on what I always thought was a Beech hedge but now suspect to be something else .I will consult tree book and check it out.
Going home
These took a while but are the pics from the other night,Yesterday had to go to town to pay some bills buy food ect.In the evening got together with doug and simon from the band for a little ecoustic jam.Was great fun and progressed on a couple or three numbers.
Today gave the shed a good sort out and made a bit more space.
Getting new music from all directions ,Its great having loads of new stuff to listen to.In the shed in the car and in the head.
Tax M.o.t and insurance all run out next week on the car, not entirely sure how it will be sorted yet.Once again its day to day.I'm sure something will turn up ,and that philosophy has got me through the past 25 years.Bills and their friends can wait ,they should be used to it by now.
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Its in the memory of birds this age
The post on which to perch to proclaim mornings glory
the spots of the past where the pickings are richest
the ancestors favourites ,the old places
Its in the roots of the trees this age
As they suck in the leaves as they fall
with some knowledge returning to earth to roots
to nature,to nurture, to be reborn
its in the stones the oldness
the mothers bones exposed less
where moss and lichens creeping hand paints steadily
and the birdsong is distant like fading memories
The post on which to perch to proclaim mornings glory
the spots of the past where the pickings are richest
the ancestors favourites ,the old places
Its in the roots of the trees this age
As they suck in the leaves as they fall
with some knowledge returning to earth to roots
to nature,to nurture, to be reborn
its in the stones the oldness
the mothers bones exposed less
where moss and lichens creeping hand paints steadily
and the birdsong is distant like fading memories
About Me
- paul
- deepest, devon, United Kingdom
- I don't know what I am but i know what i like.poetry, art and chipping at or joining together chunks of old wood,whilst listening to some good roots reggae or dub, world/folk music or blues all balanced by some good old punk rock.
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