Six Word Saturday: all quiet at the local station

Couldn’t help thinking of the London firefighters this morning as I passed the local fire station. Feeling enormous sadness, and huge respect, for those brave men and women of the emergency services. Image: Su Leslie, 2017

Advertisements

“The light always comes back…”

Early morning sun and mist on sports field, Collins Park, Greenhithe, NZ. Image: Su Leslie, 2017. Edited with Snapseed.

Morning sun breaking through the mist. Collins Park, Greenhithe, NZ. Image: Su Leslie, 2017. Edited with Snapseed.

My morning walks have become longer again, and are beginning to require a certain military precision in their organisation. Keys — tick. Woolly layers — tick. Toes strapped (experiment in postural correction) — tick. Fitness tracker, headphones, smartphone, new podcasts downloaded — yes, yes, yes and yes.

I’m a huge fan of BBC Radio 4 podcasts, and this morning the Desert Island Discs of Scottish writer and poet Liz Lochhead provided the soundtrack as I set off into the mist that mantled Greenhithe.

Early morning, Greenhithe Road. Image: Su Leslie, 2017. Edited with Snapseed.

Early morning, Greenhithe Road. Image: Su Leslie, 2017. Edited with Snapseed.

Sunrise behind the cabbage trees. Collins Park, Greenhithe, NZ. Image: Su Leslie, 2017. Edited with Snapseed.

Dr Suess-like cabbage trees, Collins Park, Greenhithe, NZ. Image: Su Leslie, 2017. Edited with Snapseed.

The title of this post is from the poem In the Mid-Midwinter, by Liz Lochhead. It seems particularly appropriate today as nature has already bestowed on Greenhithe an almost white-out mist, bright winter sunshine and now a sky of “dreich greyness” as the rain approaches.

In the Mid-Midwinter
Poem

‘Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s – from John Donne’s
‘A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day, being the Shortest Day’.

At midday on the year’s midnight
into my mind came
I saw the new moon late yestreen
wi the auld moon in her airms though, no,
there is no moon of course,
there’s nothing very much of anything to speak of
in the sky except a gey dreich greyness
rain-laden over Glasgow and today
there is the very least of even this for us to get
but
the light comes back
the light always comes back
and this begins tomorrow with however many minutes more of sun and serotonin.
Meanwhile
there will be the winter moon for us to love the longest,
fat in the frosty sky among the sharpest stars,
and lines of old songs we can’t remember
why we know
or when first we heard them
will aye come back
once in a blue moon to us
unbidden,
bless us with their long-travelled light.

Liz Lochhead

Written for Sally D’s Mobile Photography Challenge at Lens and Pens by Sally.

Nature’s infinite healing

Boats moored in Lucas Creek, off Greenhithe Wharf, Auckland. NZ. Image: Su Leslie, 2016

Spring morning. Lucas Creek at Greenhithe Wharf yesterday. Image: Su Leslie, 2016. Edited with Snapseed.

Greenhithe Wharf is only a few minutes from my house, and sometimes forms part of my morning walk. For the last few months, I’ve been photographing the view up Lucas Creek — although a wet winter has meant that mostly that view has been shrouded in low-lying cloud.

Yesterday the tide was full, the sun was shining and despite the fact that our current 10-day weather forecast is for rain, and more rain, it does finally feel as though spring has arrived.

Misty morning. Boats moored in Lucas Creek at Greenhithe Wharf. Image: Su Leslie, 2016

Lucas Creek at Greenhithe Wharf, Auckland, NZ. July 2016. Image: Su Leslie. Edited with Snapseed.

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature— the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.”
— Rachel Carson

This post was written for Sally D’s Mobile Photography Challenge at Lens and Pens by Sally. This week the theme is nature.