Not capturing Wednesday
Blog post #4 by Caroline Horton
Today I didn’t make notes, didn’t take photos.
We walked again.
Bought pink stilettos and holographic picture of Nature in St Michael’s Hospice in Presteigne. Also a pink chair that we plan to take out into the wilds.
The spreadsheet is in tatters and I’m quite happy about it.
She’s gone wild – gone to the dogs they’ll say.
Time is slowly slowing and as I sit happily on the plush pink chair on the pavement, waiting for Rachel to come out of the pharmacy I realize could happily sit longer.
The light through the trees in the woods on our long hilly walk was beautiful and I remember the bird-watching chair perched in a tall pine and the deer running across the clearing.
I remember that we talked about grey folk and the Huldufólk in Iceland as we walked along the river.
I remember that we made things for the first time: little films, a piece of music, a purple sofa with logs and foliage and dung exploding out of it.
I sat at Sidney’s gate and wrote fast as the sun set over Wales.
The sleeping hills settle down
Gentle black cows
I rest too
Light shifts around them
Yellow orange purple blue gold seeps into my solid body
The evening peace licks my cold toes
Aches up through me and
I am sunset-sodden forest
You are pouring in through my skin
Your last beams crack the cloud that balances on the green black pines
I am blue
There’s blue above me still and it’s still not dark and the pink blissed-out sky changes still, performs still
The sleeping giants lie silent as the day again curls herself around them – beds down to die for today
When I leave - keep mementos of me here
Close a lock of my hair that you’ve knotted – a tangle of my hair in your hand
Welsh sky burn
And fill me up
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