Barnacle Geese - Tom Langlands
Counting Geese
I hate getting up early and hate driving in the dark - I did enough of both when I was working.
Yet here I am, late November, having risen from my bed at 05 45 and driven on unlit roads for more than 20 miles, before parking up at Powfoot.
I must be mad! It's still dark, but won't be for much longer. I have checked the sunrise times; checked the tide times, disappointed to see that the tide would be well out for today's trip.
For the first time in many months, I wear gloves to drive, and unlike my visit here at a similar time a month ago (for the same reason), the weather is poor, with wind blowing noisily and rocking the car. At least yesterday's torrential rains have stopped.
I look around: the lights of Anthorn can be seen in all their glory, across the Solway, their reflection making me lift up my camera. Sadly, it is impossible to keep the camera still enough to take the picture I want, and I soon give up. I doubt even a tripod would keep it still today, the continuous roar of the wind is getting on my nerves a little.
I'm not here to take pretty pictures - not today, anyway; I am here to do a job!
I check my notebook, having had the foresight to bring a torch with me, then glance at my watch. I had noted down the times I saw anything of interest last month, and sigh. Maybe an hour or more to go yet.
My belly growls, though I have no idea why: I don't normally eat this early.
Watching the sky, looking across to the east, daylight is definitely making its presence felt: looking west, The Criffen slowly emerges.
Birds begin to appear, feeding on the mudflats: oystercatchers, golden plover, shelduck. A large bird flies across my line of sight, its long, downward curving beak identifying it as a curlew well before it gives its haunting cry. Lapwing arrive at a nearby pool, while gulls and rooks land further out: the tide is extremely low.
However, none of these are why I have come this morning, delighted though I am to see and hear them. No: I am participating in an Icelandic Goose Count: specifically counting pinkfoot geese as they leave their night-time roost on the Solway to head inland for their feeding grounds.
In full daylight now, I check my watch and my notes from last month: once again, number of geese seen: nil.
Putting my notebook, camera and binoculars in my bag I decide it is time to go: time for my breakfast at The Lounge in Annan.
Angela Haigh
Seasons prompt - Summer to Autumn
I believe I have it in me …..
I believe I have it in me to become a breath, a pile of bones, moss on a stone.
I believe I have it in me to be tucked away, stilled in a caul of mould,
folded into dry twig and hazel husk.
But what I was is still here,
a discord, a fissure, a fracture healed.
Still here, a mosquito bite, a scratch, a graze,
a bruise, a metronome, a heart attack.
A rippled pond.
Still.
Here.
Carolyn Yates
With acknowledgement and thanks for the first line inspiration taken from "I believe I have it in me to become a leaf” by Jane Burn
Who's Dancing Prompt
Who’s Dancing, and Why?
extract
A little remembered event
Before there were Picts
Or Scots
Some 450 million years ago
Canada stuck England with a might blow
The crumple zone marks the place.
When Canada diplomatically retreated
She left a precious jewel
Clutched by England
Reluctantly she yielded
Scotland
And slowly slipped away
Leaving an Ocean behind her.
Scotland now is dancing for itself again
Unable to unpick those scars of the ancient union
Hoping to draw a new border
Make a new treaty
And withdraw.
There are places in Canada
Named for Scotland
Remembered by those who fled before
Or were forced
My ancestor came of his own free will
And the last family connection
Is in Banff...
Bill Wigram
Nude - Watercolour : Liz Waugh
Seasons Prompt
Autumn
My green-gold waterfalls of happiness,
my wayside wakeners,
treeflames bloodred as the heart’s desire,
oh you who sing
in citron and cinnamon
the beauty of the lord
and flaunt her fires in scarlet and crimson,
you whose orange tongues shout across the valleys,
oh leaves soon to be fallen,
transfigured by your dying, by your soon-to-be
leaf no more,
not your leaving
moves me, not your falling
for ever now into the earth that bore you
fills my heart with tears, but your love-
liness lighting
the whole wild world
in a whirlwind of yellow-red and rivers
of sun-dazzling amber;
not your passing
but your passion;
who could mourn such glory,
such a fare-well of reckless wonder?
Su Palmer Jones
Absence promot
Now that you've gone
Now that you've gone,
you're with me all the time,
walking in my walking,
talking in my talking,
on my mind.
Inside me,
beside me.
Now that you're not there
I see you everywhere.
Su Palmer Jones
Make A Comment
Comments (0)