Writing your own blog
means never having to fear
hurt of rejection
~
CLP 19/08/2020
Tag Archives: Mental Health
On Pain
Wasps, nettles, brambles
Sting and scratch at our bare legs
Proof that Life is good
~
CLP 18/08/2020
On the Road VII
Lockdown to gridlock
Mad weekend rush to seaside.
Gridlock to Lockdown?
~
CLP 01/08/2020
On the Road VI
Spelling aside, it
looks like this chase is over.
Hope you’re happy now
~
CLP 30/07/2020
On Waking
Locked in combat
Fitful thoughts leave us flailing
Sleep slays our demons
~
n.b. This carving in Cley-next-the-sea is un-dated. It may be from the C18th, or possibly older, or more recent. It amuses me that St. George appears to be asleep on his dopey steed, whilst despatching the dragon.
A good kip can see off all manner of worries, even a monster like this one.
~
CLP 14/07/2020
Last Scene
.
Carried aloft over snow-streaked Jura
Winter’s shadows shortening
Happiness back-packed overhead
Lockers filled with duty free gifts
To the future
Oblivious to the virus carried
In the words we shared
That had dared me a dream
Of peace and calm
Life normal
.
CLP 04/07/2020
‘Tis but a Scratch
Like a definition of madness
Echoes refuse to fade
The needle jumps
The table turns
With a subtle touch on the arm
Music resumes
Resumes, clic
Resumes, clic
Resumes, clic
Resumes, clic
Resumes, clic
Resumes, clic
Resumes, clic
…ad nauseum
~
CLP 21/06/2020
Day 59
At the Salthouse church of St Nicholas a nest of blue tits has been established, despite the extensive repair work to the external flint and lime mortar. The parent birds have found food in a nearby garden and are shuttling to and fro to top up their hatchlings. As one bird leaves and crosses the west face of the church, the other is already flying towards the gap in the stone work with more food.
The birds have done well to find this site for their home. The gap in the wall is just the right size for them to squeeze in, is about six metres up the face of the building and is sheltered from the wind off the sea.
This is a busy time. A blackbird scurries across the dusty street. Wrens are darting into gaps in hedgerows. House martins have returned to the mud bowls under the eaves they have been visiting for generations at a nearby cottage. In the wild plum tree there is a commotion of chirping from a nest full of small birds chiding the adults to bring, “More! More! More!”
I have reached a point where I am unable to deliver, “More! More! More!” of this series.
I am very fortunate to be living in these strange times in such a beautiful place. Knowing that I would be looking out for something to write about here each day, has made my daily exercise more than just a duty of self-care. It has been a blessing to be able to immerse myself in these surroundings.
With the gradual loosening of restrictions on lockdowns around the world, we are now at a time when we must reconnect and find ways of recovering and re-structure our lives together. What I have seen here emphasises to me the importance of doing this in ways that allow the natural world to thrive alongside us. Our good health, in all aspects, depends on everyone working together to ensure this is so.
I will continue posting bits and pieces about wildlife and my natural surroundings while I continue on my travels.
Thank you all for the “Likes” and comments you have sent in about these 59 posts. It has been a pleasure to hear from you.
With Love
Christopher Perry
Saturday, 16th May, 2020
Day 14
The wind has dropped and on the way to the shop, the air feels soft. The birds seem to be less agitated in the hedgerows and bushes on the way down to the village shop.
There are still only a few leaves on the thorn bushes and their spikes glint in the rising sun’s light by the main road. A wren hops about inside, quite happily; safe from large intruders.
Not all the reeds on the other side of the coast road have been cut down, so they remain home of small birds who discreetly tweet to each other until they fall silent when a walker’s shadow passes over.
On one of the scrapes of the bird reserve a commotion kicks up. A marsh harrier’s arrival has taken the curlew, redshanks and ducks by surprise. Travelling into the breeze, between the shingle bank and the road, the harrier keeps low to the inflorescences of the remaining water reeds for cover. A lapwing cries out, all a flap, it creates a scene, tries to distract the ranging raptor, so that all the birds below are shaken up. A whirl of wings and cacophony of calls and the shallow pond is vacated. Regardless, the marsh harrier maintains its hunting, something will reveal itself in an unguarded moment; maybe not a small bird, but a rodent exposed in the goose-grazed grass.
In early afternoon, driving through the woods to get essential supplies we slow to let a small deer clear the road and this disturbs a hare. It leaps up and bounds in a rapid zig-zag through the blue-bell plants that are yet to flower here. The size and speed of the hare is remarkable and unmistakable. The deer just stepped coolly through the untidy woodland floor, calm as you like.
In the early evening, sat with my back to the shed, facing the sun this feels as it might in summer more than a hundred summers ago. Just the neighbours quietly in their gardens, no sound of motor vehicles, no sight of planes. The largest thing in the sky is the huge red kite, who continues to familiarise herself with the seasonal changes in her recently discovered domain. Protected by statute as she maybe, we’ll see if the game-keeper at the local shoot will allow her to establish herself safely here.
No news from my son, which is good news. He works steadily on.
I am up until quite late, then listen to the latest chapter of the story you are recording for me. It is a long chapter in a long book, in a series of six volumes, (I think). I have to scroll back several times to ensure that I have followed it all. After all the magic I must sleep.
.
CLP 1st April 2020
Memoried
Picked up as a tale
Dusted off; polished to taste
Presented as Truth
.
CLP 30/03/2020
Voyage des Mots 