Waking the day – under a subaltern’s sky (for I’m close to Southampton); a vivid, cauterised thing burgeoning storms and passing sunlight - moment to moment –
The word rhapsody comes to mind – yet even so a harsh and blustering one; clouds scudding fast eastward –
Deliberations on Vaughan Williams and ‘detachment procedures’ which are in this case immediate references to the train I’m travelling on and the fact that half of it is removed at Eastleigh sidings. However it could just as easily be a reference to a) writing or b) some form of Buddhist enlightenment –
I aim for Lower Test Marshes, out beyond the docks, close to some godforsaken suburb called Totton: broken glass, smashed Woolworths windows, the scent of glue and dead marrow, England flags and Matalan, tribes of teenage parents –
Off the Commercial Road roaring with it’s silver and chrome population heading for the Sunday superstores; I walk into a wooded area - a blessed portal(?) - and then over to my left the expanse of salt marsh and reed beds appears like a hidden paradise. Blasted by strong easterlies, biting at my cheeks and lips. Tasting dry salt on the air.
Up close a buzzard mobbed by crows and a Sparrowhawk fetching up on the other side of an oak and watching wood pigeon. Yet battle as it might, it cannot beat that head wind and gets thrust back toward pylons and away from any potential prey.
Quiet Teal in a shallow pool.
The quizzical gaze of highland cattle.
Four white dots in a sudden downpour off toward the centre of the marsh where the crossing gets harder. Four Little Egrets strutting lazily in the shallows. Beautiful things each; some exotic symbol here. Anywhere. They wait for me to pass, necks craned up to full extent. Giveaways against the surrounding foliage.
The river’s noise close by. The River Test. Foulness and fair.
It’s been a while.
Lower Test Marshes 1/10/06
The word rhapsody comes to mind – yet even so a harsh and blustering one; clouds scudding fast eastward –
Deliberations on Vaughan Williams and ‘detachment procedures’ which are in this case immediate references to the train I’m travelling on and the fact that half of it is removed at Eastleigh sidings. However it could just as easily be a reference to a) writing or b) some form of Buddhist enlightenment –
I aim for Lower Test Marshes, out beyond the docks, close to some godforsaken suburb called Totton: broken glass, smashed Woolworths windows, the scent of glue and dead marrow, England flags and Matalan, tribes of teenage parents –
Off the Commercial Road roaring with it’s silver and chrome population heading for the Sunday superstores; I walk into a wooded area - a blessed portal(?) - and then over to my left the expanse of salt marsh and reed beds appears like a hidden paradise. Blasted by strong easterlies, biting at my cheeks and lips. Tasting dry salt on the air.
Up close a buzzard mobbed by crows and a Sparrowhawk fetching up on the other side of an oak and watching wood pigeon. Yet battle as it might, it cannot beat that head wind and gets thrust back toward pylons and away from any potential prey.
Quiet Teal in a shallow pool.
The quizzical gaze of highland cattle.
Four white dots in a sudden downpour off toward the centre of the marsh where the crossing gets harder. Four Little Egrets strutting lazily in the shallows. Beautiful things each; some exotic symbol here. Anywhere. They wait for me to pass, necks craned up to full extent. Giveaways against the surrounding foliage.
The river’s noise close by. The River Test. Foulness and fair.
It’s been a while.
Lower Test Marshes 1/10/06
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