September

Last month the blackberries in Wiltshire were lush. Competing with the bees, popping them into my mouth within one second of picking them. Thorns or no thorns. Chemicals or no chemicals. Forgetting to take any home. Feasting on the juicy little blobs, licking my purple fingertips, not bothered by the juice forming maroon dots on my yellow t-shirt. That was ecstasy. Big thanks to the hidden roots of the blackberry bush, the wind, insects and bees, the soil, the birds, the people who planted it, the sun, and the changing seasons.

For years we have witnessed the fullness of the ash tree behind our house thin down to a bear skeleton in the autumn. It stood naked through the winter. Come spring, it was fulsome again. We came to think of it as our friendly live green screen. It beautified the views from our windows and was home to so many birds that woke us up in the morning. Three years ago, our neighbor hacked one branch off, saying it was sick as it was dropping heavy twigs in his garden, unprovoked. Over the last few years, it’s been dwindling. No leaves old or new for the past two cycles. Now we wake up to a skeleton of a tree and an eerie silence. No birdsong. A few crows and pigeons. That’s all.

Yesterday, we watched on sadly as two tree surgeons with helmets, chainsaws, ropes and harnesses methodically chopped off one branch after another. Within a few hours all that was left of it was a neat round flat surface slightly raised from the ground, with many fine irregular concentric rings. In the space above this stump my eyes fabricate a ghost tree every time they look.

It must have risen from a dark cold earth, God knows when. In reaching toward the sun, it was majestic. It had a quiet dignity and poise. It knew how to gracefully let go of old forms of life. It balanced the perennial energies of the winter and spring within its living bark. It was a wise old teacher, hospitable towards new forms of life. Standing still, it showed me the meeting point of two journeys – the path inwards and the road outwards.

(Inspired by a passage from Eternal Echoes by John O’Donohue)

Fall like snow on tall peaks

Posted by kidsaregifts20

There are laws followed by falling things

not humans

but things cannot determine the conditions of their fall

humans can.

Since childhood I was advised, if you want to fall, fall inside the house. ie. not outside

ie. fall onto the letter but escape from the envelope

ie. fall into the eye but escape from the glasses

ie. escape from words but fall into the meaning.

I, of average height could not have fallen more than five and a half feet

but how high was that?

My falling is not coming to an end.

The reality of falling things is revealing itself to me

in the middle of my 70th decade.

Look around and observe the falling of things.

fall like the snow atop glaciers from where sweet rivers erupt

fall like a sip of cold water on a dry throat

fall like drops filling a clay pot with music

fall like a teardrop in someone’s sorrow

fall like a ball amongst children playing

fall like the first leaf in autumn making space for a new one in spring

for if there’s no autumn, there’s no spring

fall like the first brick in the foundation of a home

fall like a waterfall on a turbine setting its fans in motion

fall like light on darkness

fall like sunlight on moist winds, making rainbows.

But stop.

Up until now only rainbows have been drawn.

No arrows have been drawn from rainbows.

So, fall like an arrow of a rainbow

onto barren earth and

cover it with flowers and leaves.

Fall like rain on parched land.

Like a ripe fruit,

fall and offer your seeds to the ground.

My hair has fallen.

So have my teeth.

And my vision.

The shells of memories continue to fall.

Names. Dates. Towns. Faces.

The pace of blood-flow in my body is falling.

My temperature is falling.

Why are you still standing, Naresh?

Before all of your existence collapses

for once

make a decision about your fall,

the correct cause and timing of it, and fall on an enemy

like lightning

like a meteorite

like a warrior

like thunderbolt.

I say, fall.

An excerpt from a poem by Naresh Saxena. (Translated from Hindi, by me. It is customary for Urdu and Hindi poets to insert their pen-name into the last verse of their poems. I enjoyed the instructional tone of his voice and the ebb and flow of all his metaphors.)

Come October.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

Such slashing-sloshing wetness that the roads can’t take it. Such a dense grey blanket overhead that the light-switch needs to be flicked on before brushing my teeth, early in the morning. So windy that the umbrellas are bending and twisting into funky shapes, not fit for purpose. This has happened before.

Leaves starting to morph into colourful blades, beginning the descent of their curtains from clean pristine branches high up in the air down to the messy wet Earth, departing the very same points from where, not so long ago, they had sprung. This has happened before.

Some globules of rain clinging to the outside of the window pane, a crescent of heaviness at their lower edges. Quite still. Others making a dash down to the ground with quick wiggly lines disappearing behind them. The glass pane, an alive fashionable frosted sheet of artistic dots and lines, dancing. This has happened before.

This planet, tilted to perfection on its axis, keeping precisely to its orbit in accordance with the laws of creation. Doing what it was made to do. Billions of clumps of matter scattered all over the limitless expanse of space, each on its own path, own trajectory, appearing out of nothingness and then sparkling out of existence, unnoticed. This has happened many times before.

The tenth month is here again, at the cusp of two seasons. A climate of colours and shadows. Its steep, slanting sheets of light illuminating the trees in their sheer nakedness, foreshadowing the arrival of the dark. This too has happened before.

Bubble of one.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

They said you can travel within the UK. I did. Took a few days off and invited myself to a friend’s place in Aberarth, Wales. Excitedly booked a ticket from London Euston to Aberystwyth via Birmingham and back.

I’ve never had so much space travelling from anywhere to anywhere, ever. It was like moving from one fake film set to another. A story where nothing happens. No one meets anyone. Nothing is exchanged. No conversations are overheard. Even my tickets were not checked. I was truly in a bubble of one. The announcements were made by invisible human voices. Welcome to … but there was no one there. No shoulders brushed. No smiles. No queues at the solitary coffee shop at Euston.

Finding a window seat was no problem as there were at least 30 to pick from. As my train sped out of London, land and sky were revealed. Every now and then I got a glimpse of little streams of water holding a string of multi-coloured narrow boats along their edges. The sun glistened the patchwork of fields. The horizon was a long horizontal line interrupted only by thickets and vertical carpets of green.

Townships appeared with colourful children’s play-areas crying out for children. Don’t know why I tried to log on to the Train Wi-Fi but they wanted me to agree to a multitude of things which was the perfect excuse to put the laptop away and simply enjoy the ride. Branches burgeoning with white, pink and yellowish-green life, embellished the pliable black skeletons of trees, dancing to the tune of spring. Spring, the upward thrust of sap through roots and trunks to the fulsome tips of cold branches.

Nowhere to buy a bottle of water at the normally chaotic Birmingham International Airport Station. No noise other than the oh-too-loud announcements. Toilets, the cleanest they’ve ever been, on and off the train. From one desolate platform to another, I changed to a country train with 2 carriages meandering through gentle hills and fields towards the sea, stopping at places I’d never heard of before – Y Trallwng, Drenewydd and so on. I felt my fists loosen to receive this new freshness.

The next 3 hours were a dream. Ewes tailed by their cute little lambs scattered on both sides of the rail track. Lamb ears sticking out of their heads at a jaunty angle and their tails wiggling with joy! Clear waters mirrored the dance of life all around. Green slopes rose and fell in a soft rhythm. And I was here. My eyes were dry and my heart open. I clearly witnessed the fresh air and bright sun work their magic.

A few years back I had believed the season would never change. It would forever be autumn. But it has changed. It really has.

Ode to Fall

Posted by kidsaregifts20

Spring falls

leaving traces behind

on every leaf.

Leaves fall

As if in love

with the ground.

Trees

Display their skeletons

For Halloween.

Standing bereft

Pretending

To celebrate.

A curtain once green

Now a crunching

crispness

Beneath my feet.

Moon falls.

Full no more.

Light falls at

Slanting angles

Turning everything

to gold.

Apples fall

Fill the air with honey.

Acorns fall

All over the pavements.

Each one

A possible tree.

Crack. Crush. Crush.

Pumpkins sit

Outside every door.

Toothy smiles

To match the kids.

Kids fall.

Whimper.

Get up and go.

A season for cuddles.

For magical beauty

And transformation.

Night falls.

Love, let go.

Grow, let go.