Archives for the month of: September, 2014



What’s up?

Where’s food?

No grubs?

More worms;

Yes please;

Hurry up!

Chicken Love!



Your absence;

filling our emptiness…


The American poet William Stafford said

a poem is an emergency of the spirit.”

He was just a little cat yet his passing wrenches at our emotions – he should be here – he arrived and left with the swallows and the fading flowers. I guess I have need of poetry. Someone read some words from William Stafford and Martha Snell Nicholson, having never heard of either I searched for them. If you enjoy poetry let me recommend them to you.

Whatever you do today enjoy, and thanks for dropping by again!

I never dreamed you’d leave in summer -Joan Baez


… tell a better story

After weeks of warm dry weather the welcome rain fell, loud percussive rain, washing away the dust, refreshing the garden, changing the air with autumn coolness. The garden is transformed, garlanded with crystal jewels sparkling in the early sun. Inhale, hold the cool air in your lungs, exhale, let go of all tensions. Open your eyes and see the beauty -“we come to every new morning”.

 Add to the Beauty – Sara Groves

Sunrise, sunset…

September Sunrise

Sunrise another perfect day, clear blue skies, calm blue sea, mountains steadfast and sure, this is how our lives are ordered. Yet momentarily it seems time has become elastic; like a line cast by a fly fisherman and we float downstream on the still water, then snapped back to reality. The house is too quiet, no radio, no music, no TV, no sleep, so listen to the referendum results come in. Morning comes and we are still one nation but for some hopes lie dashed like scattered petals after the storm; we grieve for all things lost…

Dying sun

September warmth fades in the red embers of the evening sun, sudden realisation that the swallows have gone, one last fly past on Friday morning, swooping low over the garden, into the shed, circling the sky above our heads and now the skies are quiet and empty. The song birds move closer to the garden, wood pigeons have made the beeches their home, vying for roosts among the rooks. The chickens have taken themselves to bed, the darkening sky calls out the stars, all is peace and quite; too quiet. Straining my ears to the sound of a welcome bell, white face in the darkness, gallop across the green and into the bright kitchen. The garden aches for your presence…

To everything turn, turn, turn…

Bruce August 2010 -September 2014

Bruce August  4th 2010 – September 18th 2014

 Sunset Sail

Casting off from the anchorage,

sets sail on the sunset sea.

Following his father and father’s father.


Reading the signs, 

search for the shoal.

Tradition following tradition.

Let the stars guide you;

bring you safe to shore


Momentous day tomorrow, as Scotland decides.

Goodnight, sleep well till morning comes around again, enjoy a  wee lullaby from Ossian

icky kitty

icky kitty

Almost sunset, chooks heading for bed, wondering where the cat is… Suddenly alarmed by a loud caterwauling, as we rushed to the window to see what it was; we notice a small, bedraggled figure, limping to the front door. Small daughter rushes to her “baby” wrapping him in towels, checking the bone alignment of front leg. “Mum is it broken?” Mm, not weight bearing, slightly swollen, doesn’t like to be touched; better keep an eye to it. But what happened to kitty, how did he come to this wretched state?

We all know cats don’t fly, (well if you check out the April posts you’ll know this one did!) Being part Norwegian Forest cat he loves to climb the big beech trees which overhang the burn. He is an enthusiast, charging up the tree and out on a limb – usually the thinnest we can imagine and he’s clumsy. So we can only surmise that he climbed the tree, lost his footing and fell into the burn.

BUT perhaps there is another scenario. Whilst closing up the greenhouses and chickens, am suddenly startled (nay, alarmed) by loud music and singing. Banshee? Fran and Anna? “VOTE YES!” implores the voice from over the hill. So perhaps while quietly minding his own business, scaling the dizzy heights; the cat too was startled by the noise and lost his footing! First casualty of the “YES” campaign?

In case you are worried – he’s fine – took a lot of grooming but he’s clean and forgotten all about his sore paw.

Another “unco mournfu’ tale” from Scotland…

Favourite Burn’s Poem “Poor Mailie’s Elegy”; enjoy!

Seen in Alloway, Burn’s birthplace, “Robert Burns would have voted YES!”