Saturday, 23 April 2011

So I guess if you play with fire you get burnt, and if you live in the UK you're gonna get wet, whether its winter-spring-summer or autumn.  That's what happened yesterday - after being burnt to a nice shade of pinky-brown I called on a friend in the afternoon, and as I drove home later I took these pictures on macro of the rain on the windscreen.

I have to admit though, spring puts a nice spin on everything, even a rain storm, and since I can't sleep past 8am anymore I'm sat on the decking on a slightly damp chair and the air, and the smells and the feel of the day is amazing.  Fresh, and quiet and soft. I used to work in Italy and France years ago (in my heyday) and starting a summers day early always reminds me of crawling out of my couriers tent, hungover and ready for a strong coffee and a pastry.  They're pretty bitter-sweet memories for me, I guess all happy memories of being in love and living a little bit wild become slightly bitter once you're past thirty?  I don't know.

Anyway, maybe off to Liverpool today, or somewhere at least, since my 365 project is quite mature now and the longer it goes on the wider the radius around my home town grows within which I've photographed everything.

And I guess I mentioned a poem in a previous post, and it ties in with this nostalgia, one I wrote in France and published to the tune of £50 back in 2007 and anyone who knows poetry knows that's a fortune!

The late-evening emptiness of day-end
Blown wind swaying the hissing tops of trees
And your golden hair still damp.
Through that breezy-rustle night settles
Oceans tamed strength becomes quiet.

That Atlantic bay was geographical
But for me it was memories, feelings.
It was the landscape where I loved you
The landscape of intimacies and meetings
Of parched birches leaning like waiters
Over the warm sand, the cool thick grasses.
Harbour lights casting thin shadows
Enticing waves calling us in, distracting us
Breaking to a ripple of diamonds,
Hushed and then withdrawn.

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