See, Avril, that's your gift, you do it every time. From the universal full of promise- beyond the ocean's horizons, to the particular- sweeping up bones from under the door. It bet even your shopping list is a work of art! Hmm, for myself, the place I grew up, the cynic in me would call it a perennial hole where one defecates! But Like your ocean, I grew up near a wood. And how it changed throughout the seasons seeped into my bones. Then- it was a feeling, a sanctuary. Now- I probably have a little Latin to name some of the wild flower-swell which stipples the scrub. And I guess my time frame wouldn't quite be summer/winter, but how it appears to me man/boy. Like a kaleidoscope, the same primary colours, but a turn of age, foregrounds a varied presentation.
I think so often the natural, wild, places we inhabit as children, be they woods or rivers, estuaries or moors, become our sanctuaries. Perhaps you should write about that wood in all its seasons - I'd love to read it.
See, Avril, that's your gift, you do it every time. From the universal full of promise- beyond the ocean's horizons, to the particular- sweeping up bones from under the door. It bet even your shopping list is a work of art! Hmm, for myself, the place I grew up, the cynic in me would call it a perennial hole where one defecates! But Like your ocean, I grew up near a wood. And how it changed throughout the seasons seeped into my bones. Then- it was a feeling, a sanctuary. Now- I probably have a little Latin to name some of the wild flower-swell which stipples the scrub. And I guess my time frame wouldn't quite be summer/winter, but how it appears to me man/boy. Like a kaleidoscope, the same primary colours, but a turn of age, foregrounds a varied presentation.
I think so often the natural, wild, places we inhabit as children, be they woods or rivers, estuaries or moors, become our sanctuaries. Perhaps you should write about that wood in all its seasons - I'd love to read it.
Beautiful writing, Avril. Wonderfully evocative and poetic.