"Don't come cooing on my drainpipe!" roared Captain Butterfly as he strode forcefully towards the balcony, and a pair of courting doves sped wisely off.
Spring must be on the way. A pair of them tried to nest in our downpipe last year.
Pen left for London this morning and I was out on the door to door preaching work with Audrey - cold but sunny - croci everywhere - very little interest - a bit cold to keep people at their doors talking anyway. Still at least I am back to work.
Col was off at Wisley, drinking in the butterflies. There will be some wonderful photos on his blog soon. He bought me back a present from the bookshop there. An anthology by Owen Sheers called "A Poet's Guide to Britain".
I have already found an old favourite from my Uni days - Wulf and Eadwacer. We don't know who wrote it. It is a voice of longing from the past - maybe from a spring many many hundreds of years ago.
It begins:
"The men of my tribe would treat him as game:
if he comes to the camp they will kill him outright...
Wulf is on one island, I on another.
Mine is a fastness: the fens girdle it
and it is defended by the fiercest men.
If he comes to the camp they will kill him for sure...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
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