Category Archives: Seasons

Passing Storm

Once again, as often before

Angry waves torment pebbled shore

Streams and river can hold no more

Gorged, they greedily flood and score

….

Boughs and tree tops bend, submit

Dancing, possessed, as some mad fit

Corn lies flat against the ground

Wheat and barley, bent and drowned

….

Wind howls around a shabby cottage

Lichened thatch, now in its dotage

Uneven windows rattle and crash

Climbing roses twist and thrash

….

Smoke struggles up the sooted stack

Puffing and swirling, blowing back

Flickering candles show eddies within

Guttering answers to the banshee din

….

The moon, it seems, races each dark cloud

Revealing weathered hills, stood solid, proud

Brighter still flash exploding bolts

Snapshots with ten thousand volts

….

Lightning shatters an oak asunder

Earth itself quakes with the thunder

Sheets of rain now throw themselves down

On cobbled streets in the nearby town

….

In the cottage, through the open door

A silent shadow peers out in awe

Hears distant rumbles, sees the oak aflame

As, passing, the storm echoes its name

The Rose and the Grass

One day a gardener planted a young and elegant rose bush in the border surrounding her well-manicured lawn.
‘Hello and welcome, friend rose’, said some of the grass nearest to the rose. ‘Our owner is a keen gardener and has chosen a fine sunny spot to plant you. You should do well there.’
“Quite so”, said the rose, somewhat haughtily. “My owner has placed me where I might display my wonderful flowers to the best effect. This clearly shows she is a keen gardener.”
‘Ah’, said the grass, ‘we can hardly wait for the summer to see what colours you will have’. “You must be patient”, said the rose,” it will take me no little time to prepare for the glorious show that I am to give. But what of you? What is your role in the garden and is green really your only colour?”
‘Sadly’, said the grass, ‘we cannot claim the brilliance of the colours you will bear, though we have the most vibrant shade of green imaginable and we work together to provide a velvety soft carpet for our owner to walk upon’.
“My owner cannot care for you too much then”, said the rose, “for she tramples on you daily and even the birds have little regard as they root for grubs and worms between your shorn down stalks”. At this the grass grew silent for a while, and a humble mood spread across the whole lawn as the grass stalks pondered just how keen a gardener their owner was.
The days went by and spring gave way to summer. The owner tended and fed the plants lovingly, and with a growing sense of pride as the garden was readied for its coming splendour. The lawn was given a dressing of fertiliser and had its hair cut at least once a week. The rose was inspected regularly and sprayed to prevent blackspot and mildew. The rose did feel it somewhat degrading when, in full view of the lawn, it was also sprayed to remove the greenfly that had cheekily moved in uninvited. However, this was better than having the pesky things greedily sucking its sap.
The rose pointed out to the grass that, being a keen gardener, its owner was merely taking proper care of it. “After all,” it said to its now weary audience, “all my sap is for my magnificent flowers. See how some of my buds are already beginning to burst. My owner must be overcome with excitement”. The grass gave no reply, but did note that a beautiful fragrance had begun to accompany the young and radiant blooms on the rose.
A few more days of warm sunshine later, the lawn woke to hear sobbing coming from the rose. Even though the grass had regularly been subject to the rose’s arrogant attitude, the stalks remembered their common bond as plants, and inquired what the matter was.
At this, the rose wailed and roared; “My prize flowers, they are all gone!” ‘Quite so!’, said the grass, ‘Our owner is indeed a keen gardener, but she is an even keener exhibitor at the local flower show’.

The Decisive Farmer

A farmer lived in a pleasant valley with his wife and three children. They usually had all they could eat from their own farm, which looked out at the mountains beyond. One year, however, the harvest was very poor and, after a while, the family had eaten most of the food. Only some hay was left in the barn. “Right!”, said the farmer, who liked to be decisive. “We cannot survive the winter by eating hay. I must load what hay we have and take it over the mountain to sell in the village. Then I can buy some food.” The farmer’s wife suggested that, because the snows had started to fall, it would be difficult to get over the mountain without some help. After some discussion the farmer decided to take child No 2 on the journey. This was because the horse was not very strong, and it would not be able to pull the haycart and the farmer and child No1, who was the oldest and the heaviest of the three children. Child No2 was just right for the job though, being a little less heavy than child No1.
Very early the next day the farmer loaded all the hay from the barn and, because it was snowing, he decided to cover the hay to keep it dry. Saying goodbye to the rest of the family, the farmer and child No2 set off toward the village. The snow was not very deep in the valley but, the higher they got on the mountain, the deeper was the snow. Every so often child No2 had to jump down from the cart and help the farmer to push the cart out of the deep snow. After a while child No2, said “Perhaps it would help if we put some of the dry hay under the cartwheels. Then the cart will not get stuck.” “That’s a decidedly good idea”, said the farmer. He gave child No2 his pitchfork to take some hay from the back of the cart and place it under the wheels, as child No2 had suggested. The hay did the trick and, as the horse pulled and the farmer and child No2 pushed, the cart rolled out of the snow. “I’ve decided that you can run back home now and send child No1 out instead”, said the farmer. “The cart isn’t so heavy anymore, so the horse will be able to pull child No1’s extra weight. Child No1 is a little stronger and will be able to help more if I become stuck again”. At this, child No2 ran off to send back child No1.
When child No1 arrived at the cart they all set off once more for the village. It wasn’t long however, before the cart became stuck again. The horse pulled and the farmer and child No1 pushed, but the cart was stuck fast. “I have an idea”, said child No1. “The horse must be exhausted by now, so let’s give him some hay to eat to make him stronger”. “That’s a decidedly grand idea”, said the farmer, “Take some hay from the cart and put it in the horse’s nosebag for it to eat”. After a while, when the horse had eaten and recovered its strength, they managed to free the cart from the deep snow and set off again up the mountain.
Before long, however, the cart became stuck yet again. No matter how hard the horse pulled and the farmer and child No1 pushed, the cart would not budge. “We must get over the top of the mountain, then it will be easy to roll down the other side to the village” said the farmer, in his decisive way. “Here, take the pitchfork to get more hay from the cart and put it under the cartwheels. Then give the horse another feed of hay for good measure”. Child No1 did as he was asked and then, after one last effort, with the horse pulling and the farmer and child No1 pushing, they managed to get over top of the mountain and roll down the other side to the village.
As soon as they arrived at the village, the farmer decided to go straight to the store to sell the hay for some food. When the store owner came out to decide how much to pay for the hay, they took off the cover, but no hay was left! “There is nothing for it”, said the farmer. “I’ve decided that we must sell the horse and cart”. So, they sold the horse and cart, just as the farmer had decided. Then they bought a supply of food and two rucksacks to carry it in. On the way back over the mountain, child No2 asked, “Dad, why haven’t any of us got a real name?” The farmer’s face became very thoughtful for a while and then he said, “I just haven’t decided which ones suit you best yet”.

Reflections by a Window

See, the world is still out there

Beyond the glass and frame

Lit by sun that breaks in here

Warming me the same

 

Sky shimmers in summer heat

Birds dash about for food

I rest on the window seat

In melancholy mood

 

I ponder on the happy scene

Of plants and living things

Wondering what it all means

And envy birds their wings

Warmth

I’ve reached that point, where all that matters

Is a warm and sunny day

Too often does cold, take bitter hold

And gnaw at my bones like decay

 

When the sun shines, there is some release

From the prison that is my home

I then struggle out, without a clout

With freedom, at last, to roam

 

On winter days, so short and cold

The four walls close in as a vice

Listening aghast, to the weather forecast

Promising snow and ice

 

Bed is sanctuary, where shivers subside

Though my nose asks for cover too

Like Oates to Scott, I know I’m facing my lot

When I briefly pop out to the loo

 

If this land goes to hell, in the proverbial handcart

For the young, I’d feel sorrow in large measure

It isn’t all sad; there’ll be one thing not bad

The heat I’ll enjoy with great pleasure

BBC Anticlockwise Forecast for Seas around the British Isles

Thames, Humber, German Bight;

Fog remaining overnight

Fisher, Dogger, Tyne and Forth;

Strong winds abating from the north

 

Stormy soon in Cromarty and Viking

Continued, rapid lightning striking

Further west to north Fair Isle;

Visibility steady at over one mile

 

More north west in the Faeroes

Pressure falling; a strong gale blows

Contrast this south west in Bailey

Pressure is increasing daily

 

For those south east in Hebrides

Expect to sail on heavy seas

In Malin and nearby Rockall

Westerly blizzards are to fall

 

Further south into Shannon

Blasting winds like cannon

Calmer waters in Fastnet

Should provide a safer bet

 

Expected shortly across Lundy

A high of 1050; Sunday

Storm force 10, now in Sole

Building 11, on the whole

 

Further south across Fitzroy

Sunny spells to enjoy

But further east, in Biscay

Rougher seas and blowing spray

 

Plymouth, Portland, Wight and Dover

Temperatures rising, hurricane over

This concludes today’s forecast

Dear Auntie Beeb, may it long last

It Could be Worse

Despite the fuss on the national news

Last week’s earthquake brought hardly a bruise

Barely enough to make walls shake

But ‘quakes elsewhere, leave deaths in their wake

 

Classed as ‘light’; Richter 4.4

Even more slight than in ’84

When we swept up the kids and ran outside

If the earth moves, there’s nowhere to hide

 

Now, it seems, we’ve another ‘grave’ threat

The ‘beast from the east’, a new cause to fret

A Siberian blast, bringing snow and ice

At -5C, the Beeb says it won’t be nice

 

But some can recall the freeze of ’82

When staying outdoors wasn’t good for you

At -26C, that really was cold

It killed by degrees, especially the old.