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.


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.


Filed under imagination, literature, Meditation, Poems

4 responses to “Muse

  1. 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.

  2. What a blessed visitation. Thank you for sharing these lovely words and photos.

  3. Alastair

    v. nice views, v. nice muse!

  4. 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.

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