The first day of autumn, according to the calendar and to the Met Office. The dragonflies and faded butterflies will tell you that summer is still hanging on by a thread, but the cobwebs are frosted with dew in the mornings and there’s a cool wind blowing from the north. It takes more than oneContinue reading “Autumn”
Author Archives: mudwriter
Writer’s Block
I sit at my desk, trying to look the part; trying to feel the part. I had the ideas at one time, but they have all deserted me now, leaving me with stationary fingers stuck over the keyboard. There must be something I can bring to the party, but God knows what. I like toContinue reading “Writer’s Block”
With ee cummings in mind …
ee cummings is one of my favourite poets. I like his expressive, apparently naive use of language, and the play with word order. He’s fun to parody too. Here is one of my attempts! This is (much wetting) the rain which bow makes spray under hissing tyres i think of you blue rain coat inContinue reading “With ee cummings in mind …”
The Garden
The rain came, soft and plentiful. You could almost hear the bulging flowerbeds creaking at their stone edges as the plants grappled for space. The bullies in the yard stretched enormous leaves that cast dank, inhospitable shade beneath them. Others scrambled up, stretching for light, using surrounding stems as climbing frames. A few brave bumblebeesContinue reading “The Garden”
Putnoe Wood
It’s a short walk past the deserted football fields where black-headed gulls search out washed up worms and scream their strangled yelps. At the gateway is an old oak, knobbly-elbowed, bare branches stretching across the path. I reach my arms around it, smelling the musty ridged bark and pressing my fingers into its fissures. Alone,Continue reading “Putnoe Wood”
Wren
I’ve been sitting indoors, watching nothing in particular, isolated by my own unwillingness to go out. This is my bubble, double-glazed against sound, the rippling grey clouds that clothe the January sky, the chilling breeze that fingers the trees. The garden is a green waiting room. Not much is happening, except the marking of timeContinue reading “Wren”
Slugging It Out
I always feel a little self-conscious as I turn off the well-worn path around the four sides of the wood, I scuffle furtively through leaf litter, crouching down to examine fungi or pick apart a rotting log to see what might be hidden inside their damp, crumbling innards. This was how I found four smallContinue reading “Slugging It Out”
Morning Song
The stagnant air is fog-filled, as it has been for weeks. I’m putting out food for the birds when I hear it. A secretive burble of notes, a warm-up routine. It takes a while to find it but then I see a dead-leaf-orange amongst the holly leaves. Its eyes are hidden but I feel itContinue reading “Morning Song”
Winter Visitors
It was a damp, foggy start to the day. Cloud wrapped around us as we started walking along the concrete track. The morning chill fingered its way down the inside of my scarf. Pylons had their heads in the clouds. The wooden humpback bridge over the mud-brown River Thames was slippery and we slowed ourContinue reading “Winter Visitors”
Hedgehog
The weather has turned colder, bringing a lull in the rain-sodden autumn. The horizons of our days are pulling together. It’s a time of change, when the last shining berries are snapped up by hungry birds and the trees expose their skeletons. I’ve gone outside in the dark evening to scatter some food for theContinue reading “Hedgehog”
Mudwriter 