you are a magician to me

+ home is where the wind writes poetry on everything + 

+ and we will wander these moors for an eternity + 

+ +

___________

**This is now one of my favourite places close to home - this small buttercup field. I have been here every day (since the beginning of the lockdown) for a secret late afternoon date with the sun. I sometimes become one with The Yellow - of the flowers and the sunset - while watching the sky through the translucent wing of a grasshopper - a kaleidoscope of quiet hope and peace. 

“How then does light return to the world after the eclipse of the sun? Miraculously. Frailly. In thin stripes. It hangs like a glass cage. It is a hoop to be fractured by a tiny jar. There is a spark there. Next moment a flush of dun. Then a vapour as if earth were breathing in and out, once, twice, for the first time. Then under the dullness someone walks with a green light. Then off twists a white wraith. The woods throb blue and green, and gradually the fields drink in red, gold, brown. Suddenly a river snatches a blue light. The earth absorbs colour like a sponge slowly drinking water. It puts on weight; rounds itself; hangs pendent; settles and swings beneath our feet.” (Virginia Wolf - The Waves)

**I’m following the rabbit, the bees, the traces - always keeping the sky close, the umbrella closer; curious for things I’ve already known, I can feel a calm falling over me as though the air itself is breathing with infinite care.

**The explorations close to home kept me thrilled and away from computers. My skin is now addicted to the 5pm sunlight. My eyes in need of green. I step as gently as I can for fear that my presence would summon the jealous gods.

April 9th, 2020 - close to home, as recommended.

“But there is another kind of seeing that involves a letting go. When I see this way I sway transfixed and emptied. The difference between the two ways of seeing is the difference between walking with and without a camera. When I walk with a camera I walk from shot to shot, reading the light on a calibrated meter. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment’s light prints on my own silver gut. When I see this second way I am above all an unscrupulous observer.”

― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

+ where you end and I begin + 

“Perhaps you will tire of me”, muses 

my love, although she’s like a a great city 

to me, or a park that finds new 

ways to wear each flounce of light 

and investiture of weather. 

(William Matthews)

+ embraces +

_________

**Autumn carries all these golden riches in its pockets - and us, hungry for the quest, unknowingly pass them by, with our quick, impatient steps and dreams of pumpkin lattes. 

**Your bruised knees, your heart aches: autumn heals every foolish summer bravery with its warm tones and quiet tenderness.  

**For the love of Tarkovsky.

_____________

**I’ll show you a place where all the things we lost have secretly gathered, surrounded by an unbreakable code of silence and everlasting mist.