Samhain poem

Burial song

It is turning
It is changing
We are laying out the Harvest King.

I cross the river; the tide is high.

Lazy waters lick and cling

At the dark stone piers

And I think of you; you as you were

In the brief sunlight

In your bright days

In your life.

I have never loved

As I loved

When I loved

With each molecule alight

When your eyes touched me

And your hands beheld my skin.

I have never loved

As I loved you,

Star of my rising river,

Bright archer of sunlight,

Summer’s Harvest King.

You were the dancer at the maypole,

You were the Midsummer’s flames,

You were the corn, the silk and the honey,

The bee stings of Lughnasadh,

The autumn rains.

And there was none fairer in all the worlds,

None so brave, none so bright.

No arm stronger, no eye sweeter,

None more exciting in all the worlds of life.

It is turning

It is changing

Leaves stream from the sky.

Maple and thorn, buckeye and southern beech,

All fall and mingle in the dark day.

Black branches reach out and pray.

The bold geese flocked and ate

All summer, and swung

Calling through the air over our heads;

Now they walk soft, quiet

As mourners, slow as solemnity,

Grey upon grey, on the sand bank by the bridge

Where the river goes ceaselessly.

We are laying out the Harvest King,

And the silent geese are his cortege,

And the autumn leaves are his shining robe,

And yours are his beauty and his strength.

Lying still, gone to rest,

Drifting on the rising tide,

Sweet on the sweet earth’s breast.

The door stands open and welcomes you

To sleep.  You will renew.

It is turning, it is changing.

The night river rising.

And I have never loved

As I loved you.

You will renew.

Sleep in the winter’s embrace

And be made new.

How late it was, how late...

...except actually it isn't late at all.  It's just really vilely dark outside, because the clocks went back.  The sodding clocks went back.  It's autumn. 

It's also about to pour with rain, yet again.

On the plus side, it's Samhain on Wednesday.

Had another happy Saturday helping TCI and G with their DIY.  They're on to the decorating stage; paint rollers and dustsheets and toning sealants going in around fitted and finished white goods....  Large chunks of their flat now look glorious; like a real home!   Some bits do still need a little work, e.g. the half-plastered wall in the kitchen.  They should be very proud of themselves, though, as they have done a tremendous amount since they bought the place.  DIY heroes!

What else?  I'm still writing; Villain A (the Really Bad one) is now arguing with Villain B (the unpleasant but naif scientist) and threatening him with an automatic pistol.  Villain B is being sarcastic, which may not be a good idea given that he is not the one with the gun.  My heroine has made herself invisible and is trying not to feel trapped and out of her depth, seeing as she cannot get out of the room and there's a Nasty Piece of Work with a gun standing a few feet away from her, losing his temper rapidly...  Yep, it's all fun and games at (what's left of ) the Droit Institute.

I'm very worried by the weather reports from across the Atlantic.  Good grief, it sounds as if half the east coast of America is in danger; they are apparently facing a similar combination of factors as caused the famous floods of 1953 in Britain and Holland - with the addition of a bloody hurricane...  The most powerful country in the world; but Mother Nature can still be far mightier.  The US will be in my prayers tonight.

 

Slowly slowly

Writing update: For those who are interested to know, I'm slowly working my way through the destruction of the Droit Institute.  I'm not exactly enjoying this stage of the development, and I suspect I may be over-writing something rotten.  But I've known from early on that this particular story would require extensive revision, so I'm going to tackle the de-purpling of the purple prose at the same time as I come to that.  For now I just want to finish the blowing-stuff-up bit.

I've managed so far to knock down the main wing; the lecture theatre and all the seminar rooms have been reduced to rubble.  I was visualising this part looking like my old art college, a sort-of mini-Bauhaus of glass façades and cool grey corridors.  I like that style of architecture but I'm sorry to have to report that I have none the less blasted the fictional version to pieces just about as thoroughly as I could.  Two characters are trapped under the rubble, but neither is badly hurt (owing to their "special powers", whoo) and being very capable sorts they are now digging their way out.  Someone else is about to go into the neighbouring annexe where the main lab is, which is still standing; and get in trouble there. This is where I'll be making the most of the Dipgeek's tips on what-not-to-do with an MRI scanner.

Slowly slowly; but making progress.

Ask a silly question...

I did an online survey in my lunch break yesterday; for Boots The Chemists.  I guess I was sucked-in by marketing; they offered to enter me into a draw for £200-worth of stuff from Boots, and I thought of all the contact lens fluid and antiperspirant I could get for £200...  Yep, I got sucked-in.

And then they asked me this: "Did Boots staff do everything they could to make your visit to our Oxford Street Store enjoyable?"

The choices to answer were "Yes" and "No".

Now talk about "ask a silly question"; this is one of the silliest I've been asked in a long time.  And I bet it has messed up their statistics.  Don't the people who write surveys think about what they're putting down?  Because the only logically correct answer to the question, as written, is "No".

The member of staff who served me was friendly and courteous, and efficient on a cash register.  I don't ask more than that, so she was fine.  She did everything I expected and she did it well, and with a smile.  But did she do everything she could to make my visit enjoyable?  Of course she bally well didn't! 

Where was my free cup of tea?  Heck, where was my free glass of Talisker?  Where was my comfy armchair and fresh fruit salad?  Where was my foot rub?  My session in a flotation tank?  I don't recall being presented with theatre tickets, or tickets to the opera or the ballet, or to a film premiere, either.  Or being given a voucher for a free make-over including liposuction, a unique new treatment that reverses premature greying, and a couple of grand towards a new wardrobe.  I didn't get a free pedicure or manicure or even some free nail polish.  And I'm still waiting for my gift-wrapped Jeremy Renner. 

I came out of the store with the items I'd gone in looking for; toothpaste, and a packet of sodium citrate.  It's just plain silly to ask if the staff did everything they could to make that enjoyable. 

I ticked "Yes", because I wasn't going to say "No" just because I didn't get the whiskey and the foot rub and the pedicure, and Mr Renner and a box at the opera...  But I still think it was a very silly question.

Friday friday...

Thank goodness it's Friday.  I have soldiered on all week with a steady series of flare-ups of cystitis; eating wholesomely, drinking water and cranberry juice and herbal teas, taking those funny-flavoured alkalizing  powders, taking cranberry caps and a probiotic and goldenseal drops (ugh, that's one nasty taste).  I now have a doctor's appointment for next Thursday (earliest they could fit me in) so if I'm still in trouble by then I'm going to swallow my principles and beg for some antibiotics.

Kew is looking wonderful.  I just wish I felt better able to go out and appreciate it.  The weather has turned wet (AGAIN!!) so all the fall colours are rich and saturated in the wet.  There are dainty lilac autumn crocuses everywhere, and tumbling clumps of the big double colchicum "Waterlily" to the side of the path where I walk through from the back of the office towards the Princess of Wales Conservatory.  There are still real waterlilies in the Waterlily House (and it's still hot in there, too!).  The Rock Garden has little secretive clumps of cyclamen, and crinkly pink nerines, blooming here and there among the boulders.  It's beautiful, it really is.  A feast of colour and texture and rich sweet musky smells.  And huge, huge puddles.

One of those days...

I feel like this:

Strange dream

I had a very odd dream last night.  I had gone back to my old junior school (=kindergarten, for anyone in the US) to talk to all the kids, because I was a terribly succesful and inspirational former pupil.  I was signing autographs and writing personal messages of encouragement for all these terrific, bright, sparky children, and they were telling me how brilliant it was to meet me and what an inspiring person I was. 

It was absolutely, completely and utterly bl**dy surreal.

It was also rather awesome, though, if I'm honest.  I've never had that feeling of inspiring anyone and had no idea how it felt.  It felt good. 

Any ideas what the flipping heck it means, though?