curiosity about the ways of the world
9.30 pm
I could be downstairs watching telly but decide it is time to try my first post.
Do swans grieve? Do they mourn for a lost mate or sibling? I’m watching a lonely young cygnet standing on the bank of the pond, head lowered, wary and watchful, unmoved by the rain. Relentless rain. It’s a mournful scene but is that just my human emotion?
Continue readingGreen shoots of hope – I’ve just had a lovely message from a generous man, a rare philanthropist, who is offering to match the money we raise this year for CHAS (Children’s Hospices Across Scotland) through our Scotland’s Gardens Scheme openings.
He means it, he was so impressed by what he learned about CHAS when he visited The Pond Garden two years ago he made a three figure donation. With your support we can help him give more this year.
A sight we love to see. The wild plum tree blossoming by the gate to Pond Cottage is now 30 years old and the older it gets the more beautiful it grows. It stands as a warm welcome to all visitors and once again we’re looking forward to welcoming Scotland’s Gardens Scheme explorers. We have enticing plans for the new season.
Continue readingHere we are at the start of a new season. Though of course the promise of a new season has been poking through the ground since Christmas. Now there are snowdrops everywhere I look but they are being nudged and jostled by bright yellow sploshes of narcissi. Bluebells and wild garlic are racing to catch up. Which season are we in, exactly?
Continue readingWell then, H is for house, home, hidden, heartsore…and so on. J is for junk, just junk. But what is I for? On yet another sleepless night, rummaging through my newly made house-moving alphabet, it’s odd I can’t remember.
Continue readingThe winter sun just hangs over the ridge of the Coolags. Its setting will seal the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice. At this season the sun is a pale wick between two gulfs of darkness.
So wrote George Mackay Brown, the observant eye of the great Orkney poet seeking out the touch of magic conjured up by the Neolithic architects who created Maeshowe with hard-hewn rock and a knowing eye on the heavens. Continue reading
Who the hell am I? Neither one thing nor another, I realised three years ago, presenting my brand-new Irish passport at a border check for the first time. It’s actually not a bad state to be in, but it highlights the terrible destructive carelessness of Boris Johnson’s Brexit and the awful harm a new hard border could conjure out of the boggy landscape of Ireland.
Continue readingOur disinfected doorbell rings. Outside a smiling young man delivers a box of essentials: fresh fruit, toilet rolls, paracetamol…and just a little booze.
Continue reading‘I got the train home. It was rush hour so there were four passengers. On an eight coach train.’
Roz pauses, scissors in hand. ‘At the start of lockdown I quite liked the novelty of a seat to myself,’ she says, meeting my eyes above the mask in the mirror. ‘Now I really miss the banter on the Glasgow train.’
Continue readingBegging to differ, a critical comment brings an unexpectedly welcome opportunity to step outside my social media cell.
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