I wrote this the other morning looking out at this view from my writing hut, my trysting place with the muse. All the pictures are of from that place.
Muse
I stop and sense a subtle presence here,
An opalescent shimmer in the light,
And catch, just at the corner of my eye,
A shifting shape that no one else can see;
Just on the edge, the very edge of sight
Just where the air is brightening, and where
The sky is coloured underneath a cloud.
And so she comes to keep her tryst with me.
She comes with music, music faintly heard
A trace, a grace-note, floating in clear air,
As over hidden springs the hazels stir.
Time quivers and then she is at my side;
A quickened breath, a feather-touch on skin,
A sudden swift connection, deep within.
Too beautiful a place! I think the garden sees her too, singing back without an end of sweet a-bounding
I have never seen anything like this.
What a blessed visitation. Thank you for sharing these lovely words and photos.
v. nice views, v. nice muse!
Malcolm, I’m continuing my reading in your blog. I enjoyed this one very much: I like the slow unfolding, the subtle repetitions and echoes, the atmosphere redolent of mystery.