A late Spring - where are all the bright flowers ?

Dear reader,

The days remain cold , the ground wet.


Today the sunshine was removed to reveal wet dull browns - everything looked rotten, like the rotten greenhouse timbers tumbling to dust
Roof collapses
House collapses
Dreams collapse.


The rot remains in the garden but seems less fearsome/overwhelming.
Sheltering from the cold wind
Spring is a long way off despite the date on the calendar
The robin holds its ground and terracotta still spalls.


April showers on the hills
The Black Mountain remains black
The Black Mountains are white
We take flight to escape the rain and this heavy lidded valley
Dark, we move through from south west to north east of the National Park

In Hay on Wye lunching late at the Granary
Anna Garsdale's flowers are not bright
The newspaper on which they lay looks like mackerel on a plate
Nicotine stained glaze seems to dull the lillies
I suspect these flowers were never luminescent

Perhaps I crave brightness
We all need the light
It lifts us
We creatures of spirit as well as blood
Tired now of miring in the mud

Yet what did our ancestors bear ?
They bore burdens greater than our preoccupations
How rare we think of them
Perhaps we believe our lives to be richer ?
We're spoilt
For all we really need is to see the bright flowers.



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