A Tree, a Saint and a Cake.

And when was the last time you lay down on a bench in a village square and looked up at the tree overhead?

I did, yesterday.

It was a chestnut, horse. 

Conker tree where I come from.

The leaves were spring-new – a birth-energy green against a virgin-blue sky.

Talking of which… there was a silver metal crucifix behind me.

If I turned my head a little I could make out Jesus – I think it was him.

He looked like him, but something seemed out of place, or in-place if deliberate.

At the very top – above the Lord’s head (bonce) – the sculptor had added a giant silver sea-gull.

“If I had the wings of a dove….” 

These were the words that football crowds would sing about their adversaries once upon a distant time.

“And I had the bum of a cow…”

Poor Jesus.

From above, many things come.

But from below they grow.

The late afternoon hours grew into early evening.

A dog came past.

I said hello.

I crossed the square to the shop, bought a stamp a bottle of water and a cake/mousse/thing.

“Are you going to eat that straight away?”

“Probably.”

“You should wait at least half an hour, it’s frozen.”

“I’ll try.”

I went back across the square and sat on the steps in the shade – the bench was in full sunshine.

It was hot.

I looked at the moussey-cakey-thingy.

Would you have waited?

You would have to be a saint.

 

 

Some Clouds, a couple of Cats and an Aerialist

When was the lat time that you lay on your back outside and stared at the clouds?

I did just now.

There were low clouds sliding from the west towards the east and higher ones that seemed to be going nowhere.

And then I closed my eyes.

And listened.

I couldn’t hear the clouds but high up (and far away) I could hear a plane - and low own and close I could hear bird song.

A crow called - and a gust of wind (from the west) rushed towards me sounding like the sea.

And then I opened my eyes again.

The low clouds had disappeared, the motionless ones looked back.

“Are we framing the blue” – they asked, “or are we here because of the blue?”

The wind – still from the west - turned colder as the sun faded behind the vapour - blue became grey and ocean became surf.

Crashing over the trees who are still struggling to proclaim the spring within.

A cat came.

Went past.

Stopped.

Sprayed onto a fallen branch covered in ivy.

Wandered off.

I went inside.

Broke some bread from a baguette.

Returned and wrote.

This.

A different cat came.

Stopped by the ivy.

Sniffed.

Opened their mouth.

Sniffed anew.

The two cats are not siblings but they share the same roof.

I closed my eyes again.

A plane rumbled

Birds sang.

A village church bell chimed.

It’s difficult to write with closed yes, so I opened them.

The blue was now firmly in the east.

Overhead was grey.

A bee buzzed past.

Another.

Tomorrow is Saturday – performers will dance (suspended from ropes) in the air in the distant village.

I will go.

The village is in the East - the morning will be bright.

Blue.

Welcoming.

One of the cat’s – the second - has just jumped on me.

Scared me – a little.

I welcomed him – once the fear had passed.

At least my eyes were open when it leapt.

I will close them now.