Monday, 11 April 2011
The Rose, The Rat and the election of a new Pope!
The wind howls the last vestiges of the wild across the greening landscape, delicate blooms that only yesterday stood tall and proud are now crooked in this dry storm, those few leaves of last year's splendour that clung to the branches through winter's might are thrown asunder, high into the air, while the buds of this years delight now find the room to breathe.
This pot doth boil over as the invisible fire has become so hot.
The barmy weather that did announce the return of the shining one is on the turn, a herald brandishing a bright and deafening horn indeed, although a climate more in keeping with the season is now upon the doorstep of our lives, rain shall cool the simmering heat, feeding bud and leaf, root and seed, the stem shall climb skywards in its reach for the heavens as Fox and pheasant prepare for the arrival of the next generation, hunter and hunted preoccupied with the business of procreation.
The drums sound from deep within the chthonic realms, I hear no rest within their constant beat yet I am at ease with the sound, a part of that symphony, a key role in this orchestra I have, although what instrument I am to play is yet to be known, for now I stand with with all and relish being a part of it. The song changes, it becomes change, it is the vocalisation of the Wryd, I have not heard this version before yet I know all the words, this beat is universal, transcending all time and space, straight from the source and played by a divine virtuoso .
Sophia's musical beauty drowns out the sounds of the human vermin that troubles this one from time to time, rats, they still bite yet now I feel no pain, the tune is armour for the soul and a shield for the mind, I have become the sharpened sword and feel no threat from man that is beast.
A red rose now guards the threshold of my home, a welcome addition to accompany the white sentinel upon the boundaries of our haven, carefully chosen and delicately placed in the fertile soil, a thorn to trip and tangle the usurper and a radiant bloom to welcome kin.
It is when planting this new addition that my beloved had discovered vermin of an animal kind among the fowl, I glanced over to see the love of my life delicately hiding behind the home of our hens, club in hand and ready to defend her precious brood by tooth and claw, rattus was not forthcoming on this occasion so other methods shall have to be bought into play.
The rat hunt not a success so as the sun descends upon this glorious spring day, the cunning man decides to warm the house through by lighting a fire, not so cunning on this occasion it would seem, as I had failed to notice our hooded, black feathered and Sapphire eyed friends had been attempting to build nests in our chimney, so a roaring fire in the hearth was to become such in the chimney itself.
White smoke bellowed from the top, as if we ourselves had elected a new Pope, the song of the world still playing in my ears made panic impossible, no drama to be had and the would be nest soon became as ash to the wind.
So the fools of April are indeed playing tricks on my own, and as I prepare for the company of a dear brother I feel that we ourselves may have one or two up our own sleeves to play..
Sixteen years ago, a full moon night and we were blessed with the arrival of our eldest daughter, her journey to womanhood almost complete, we reflect upon past and future, blessings a plenty and curses a few and far between, an event that did turn this man's world upside down and continues to leave me not knowing which way is up, still, up and down are silly human constructs that we could all live without, I hope!
Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.