WALKING WITH MY SHADOW

This morning the cat from across the road sings me three hellos while the air brings us gentle elements of spring.

Alt Text says this week’s photo is a shadow of a person on a road. I say this is me out on the country lane walking with my shadow. I liked the length of my shadow on this particular day and wanted to capture the spring sunshine. Whilst walking I had been pondering the way people sometimes look as though they are taking their shadow for a walk and sometimes look as though they are walking with their shadow. I was also thinking how I picture the metaphorical road I walk differently on different days. Can you begin to imagine the number of tangents this took my thoughts off into?

I don’t always remember to take many photos and was incredibly grateful to the person I sat next to at the recent Mary Chapin Carpenter concert for sending me some photos they had taken. I don’t think I will forget the experience of being at the concert, but it is very special to have some visual reminders of the event.

I didn’t dress as Noddy or Thing 3 for World Book Day this year, but I did see the Gruffalo in the forest whilst out walking with a friend. The walk also had essence of searching for a Heffalump in the Hundred Acre Wood when we suddenly realised that we were in fact striding out to walk round the same route again. I don’t have a very good sense of direction, but can read a Pokémon Go map and am reasonably adept at following posts with arrows on them. I also find large landmarks incredibly helpful, and luckily there was a lake on the walk which helped us orientate ourselves. Walking and talking in the fresh air saw a couple of hours fly past which reminded me of a long chat I recently had over a cup of coffee. It seemed that all of a sudden the chairs were being put up ready for floor mopping, and we had sat down at lunch time! I love these kinds of conversations where time comes as a surprise, and I love the fact that there are now days in my week where these things can glide into being.

It was an absolute delight to find out that two of my poems had been shared at a World Book Day event. I felt a wonderful glow of pride when I was told. I always wondered whether something like this would happen and now I know it actually has. I tip my metaphorical hat to the sharers of words and to the fact that His Gun was performed from memory. I don’t have the skill to do that with my work, and can only recite very, very short poems that rhyme!

I will share His Gun with you because it comes from a time when I did dress up for World Book Day, and I am grateful for all the experiences this gave me during my time working in a variety of different schools. It is also one of the poems from my ‘tape the poems to Kath so I can see the words while she records me’ phase of YouTube which makes me smile.

HIS GUN

for the schoolboy who entered my office without really announcing himself

He shoots.

She is falling,

staggering,

clutching herself.

Her hip seems to disappear.

She stumbles, hits the floor, stills.

He watches,

so silent he stops the air from moving,

her closed eyes flicker to find him.

He searches his words,

they both stare at it hanging from his limp hand.

He meets her gaze, speaks –

It’s just a banana, he tells her.

I DON’T KNOW

This morning the herring gulls are laughing and the air smells cleansed. I stand still in the moment and feel gratitude for last night’s Mary Chapin Carpenter concert and the clear starlit sky that ended the day.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person smiling with a scarf around their neck. I say it is me modelling The Imperial Cowl by Kath Andrews Designs and enjoying having my photo taken.

Whilst wondering which poem I would like to record for ‘Poem of the Month’ for my YouTube channel I found myself thinking about what Alan Parry wrote about one of my poems about grief.In his review of Welcome to the Museum of a Life he says: “I Don’t Know explores the uncertainty of loss with a quiet, devastating honesty: “I don’t know if biting one by one / through a dozen budded tulips would help.” Finch does not attempt to impose order on grief; instead, she lets it unfold organically, offering moments of both revelation and ambiguity.” I was drawn back to this poem and decided that it was the one I wanted to set down this time.

This led to me leaving a note on my desk to remind myself that I had chosen which poem to record. When I saw it the next morning and it said, “Poem of the Month: I Don’t Know”, I chuckled because very often it is actually the case that I don’t know until the last minute which one I will record and sometimes I can go to bed knowing and wake up no longer remembering!

I do know that the regular habit of recording my work has been a good way to develop my confidence with sharing my words as well as being able to share the poems as they sound in my head. When I read them silently to myself I see and hear the words as I read as if they are transported from the page – they scroll like a script. There was a lovely moment of revelation when I reached the end of this particular reading this month as I heard myself realise my nan is always with me. There was a wonderful sparkle within me at the whole resonance of that.

I have always thought of it as a quiet, contemplative poem, and I was surprised and pleased when both Julie Stevens and Susan Richardson engaged with it shortly after the book was released. I love seeing which poems from a collection others enjoy reading.

I am also grateful to Josephine Lay of Black Eyes Publishing for working with me on the editing of this poem to get it ready for publication. This led to the altering of some of the don’ts to can’ts, and I loved feeling what that did for the poem. It was good to pay attention together to which lines would change in their power by taking on this different starting word. It definitely made a positive impact and I know I wouldn’t have seen that change if we hadn’t explored it together. I love the duality of the meaning for ‘I can’t’… where one human can’t know the exact feelings of another and also the essence of, ‘please don’t tell me, I fear it will be too painful’.

During my coaching training we thought about the power of just getting going with things when you have an idea or a goal. I have seen this come to fruition in my recording of poems, and can clearly see the journey I have taken. I am glad I didn’t wait until I was ready! I love the fact that since my change of career I have also leant into this and this has enabled me to be willing to model Kath’s knitwear – after all, there’s always a delete button and actually I don’t mind looking at myself now. I also cracked on, and started a podcast so that I could see how it evolved. It has been so good to move away from the nerves that tickled at my very edges when I started!

I get the feeling writing some more poems is going to be a priority pretty soon because I don’t want to be in the position of not having many to choose from when it comes to poem of the month! Time to open the writing journal and set a seven minute timer…

Here’s to finding out which steps you want to take, taking the first one and the next. And then the next. 

I will leave you today with my recording of poem of the month: ‘I Don’t Know’.

STEPPING OUT FOR SNOOKER BY THE SEA

This morning the rain brings a gentle dampness, and the air holds the scent of sap and twigs.

Alt text says this week’s photo is two women taking a selfie. I say it is me and my sister taking a selfie having learned that it is best if we both sit down. When we stand side by side for photos she looks far taller than me and the photos seem a little out of balance. She says I have shrunk. She couldn’t see me at the railway station when she arrived for her visit, and I found myself standing on tip toes and waving a big double handed wave, so perhaps I might just have to measure myself to find out if I have indeed shrunk a little!

We first met up to watch the snooker a year ago, and before this I had never watched it live. We saw Gary Wilson’s 147 break, and laughed at my sister’s impression of me telling her I was suffering from shin splints from walking round The Orme. This year I know even more about snooker and enjoyed watching Stephen Maguire play against Ali Carter. I also know it is wise to pack my walking shoes when it comes to going for a walk with my sister.

I love the way our walking contrasts with the sitting in silence to watch the snooker semi-final. A perfect balance. This year Katie set me a new challenge of walking round The Orme before breakfast and up Moel Famau afterwards. There was a moment when we sat down to eat when she was doubting my will for the second part of our excursion, but I refuelled and was good to go. It was important to me to complete the two walks on the same day as part of my ‘Snowdon training’! I have been walking regularly and feeling an improvement in my ability, so it was definitely time to test my stamina. I had not completed a walk of this length (or indeed anywhere near this length) in one day for many, many moons, and having remembered how much my legs ached after my last mountain climb I needed to find out how I was doing. No shin splints and mission accomplished with a proud sense of achievement! That’s good progress for me compared to a year ago and bodes well for our nighttime Snowdon event. To celebrate I have invested in a new rucksack and dubbined my walking boots. I now need to keep up the momentum and ensure I focus on ascending some hills as well as walking regularly.

The snooker clashed with the Winter Wool Festival in Blackpool so Kath was there while my sister and I shared a Valentine’s Dinner of our very own. I made red pepper hearts to put on top of our heart-shaped pasta and it felt good to cook a special meal to celebrate the weekend. I was introduced to new songs along the way and am now determined to be better at keeping up with listening to new music. I love the playlists I have created over time, but have rarely added to these and notice that I am missing out. If you hear me singing about going to the ‘Pink Pony Club’ you can thank my sister and if you already like the song and haven’t heard the wonderful version by Edwin (Grandad Sings) here’s the link.

Here’s to walking, and new playlists.

HOW DO

This morning the air carries the scent of young daffodils. I sense the raw potential of their bulbs and taut green leaves, and am reminded of a summer job many years ago. Riding on a farm machine with a conveyor belt that brought us the freshly ploughed bulbs for sorting was a job I had never heard of before doing it. Physical work out in the fresh air all day, and a brown envelope of wages at the end of the week to tuck into a pocket with pride.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a group of heart shaped objects. I say it is the contents of my heart jar, and that some of these hearts are just right for fitting in a pocket and some definitely aren’t. I also say there is a rose quartz heart missing from this collection, but even though it is not here it has been remembered in a poem.

One of my favourite greetings of the week was, “How Do”. I love the fact it is a rare greeting! It was delivered in a warm, friendly tone in response to my cheery “Hello” as I walked past a man sorting out bird feeders in his garden. I even remembered that it is probably a complete response in itself and I need not reply. I smiled and carried it with me as a gentle reverberating echo all the way down the road.

Because I had been feeling a little out of synch with greetings on a walk recently I have also made it my mission to say a little more every now and again when I pass walkers. Mostly to comment on the joy of the sunshine or the pleasure of walking. It puts an extra spring into my step when this is met with a reply that is also longer than a simple greeting. I like the feeling of little connections brightening the day.

In amongst this I had a couple of ‘grey walks’ this week; grey sky, cold air, no one around to exchange pleasantries with. And then this poem popped up in my memories on my phone:

Loneliness

Loneliness is grey.

It tastes like the lamb that I wish had never been killed.

It sounds like crying.

It smells like chips dropped on the floor.

It looks like a storm cloud closing in.

It feels like a rat that is going to bite.

Choosing a feeling, giving it a colour and thinking about what it tastes, sounds, smells, looks and feels like was one of my favourite ‘let’s get writing’ activities when I worked with children. This group poem was written by six year olds, and I love the way their images say something extra about their experience of the feeling. I liked it too when their adults joined in and everyone shared their different emotions. It strikes me that it could also be a ‘let’s think about that feeling’ activity. I know from having written one each time I have introduced it in a writing workshop, that the same exercise results in a different end product each time. Each poem told me something about what was important to set down or celebrate in the moment.

What emotion would you choose to write about today? Choose a feeling, say what colour it is, write a line for each sense. I would love to see your poem.

One of my short conversations took place in the mammogram ‘van’ in the supermarket car park this week. I am always glad that it is so easy for me to have this check carried out – close to home, easy parking. This time I had forgotten the exact procedure, but knew that it was a relatively simple process that didn’t take long. There were changing rooms outside the x-ray room, but the process was to go straight in and take top layers off in the treatment room. I removed my jumper with my thermal vest inside and put it with my bra on the chair as instructed. I told the radiographer that I had forgotten what to do and she reassured me that she would tell me as we went along. This made me remember how clear the instructions had been last time. All was indeed simple and I was impressed with the clarity of instructions especially since I can find it hard to follow instructions about what to do with my body. (I am often the person going the wrong way in dance routines.) Whilst we were exchanging pleasantries at the end I found myself replying whilst trying to get my head to come out the sleeve of my jumper/vest combo. At home I can take my thermal vest off inside my jumper and put it on again without any issues, but in the mammogram van I had to admit defeat, take it all off and try again! One of my values is to find humour in day-to-day things so it did rather tickle me, but I think I might just wear one layer next time.

Today I will share a poem that sets down the fact that it wasn’t just the rose quartz heart that gave me the confidence boost I needed at a writing event. (A version of this poem was first published in Dear Reader.)

A Rose Quartz Heart

for my pocket

instead of just tissues

to shred nervously

between fingers and thumb.

The smoothness of it

warmed within my touch.

A solid kernel in my palm.

It gave me the confidence

to hold my head high

in an unknown city,

helped me remember

to breathe steadily.

It was a connection to you

across the miles:

I hold you safe in my heart

and you can hold this heart to remind you,

you said.

Day one, my folded tissues remained whole.

I could blow my nose

without inhaling paper dust.

On the second day I found myself

just enjoying knowing it was there

without even touching it.

I let it work by itself.

That night I discovered it was gone.

While folding my clothes

in the hotel room

I reached in my pocket to find it,

but it eluded me.

It wasn’t on the floor

or in the hallway.

It wasn’t where I sat for dinner

and had not been handed in.

The next day I scanned all the edges

and gutters on the route I had taken.

Someone else must have it now.

They must have been amazed

to see it when they looked down.

That beautiful, pink, rose quartz heart.

THIS IS THE LAST DAY FOR CHERRY FONDANT FANCIES

This morning the scent of the air is secondary to the early morning chatter of the birds. I feel as though I am walking beneath their conversations. They sound as though they have definitely been awake longer than me and have much to say this morning. When I pause to take note of what the air actually smells like, I think of my sister who says air smells like air. This morning I think I see what she means. I sense no overriding notes or gentle undertones.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a heart-shaped object with a sign on it. I say it is a heart-shaped card holder which has been dusted ready for the year ahead. Two particular objects always remain – a sign that says, You’re every nice word I can think of, and a wooden postcard. Two gifts from wonderful people.

I sense some new year renewal. My water flosser recently took on a life of its own and each evening after placing it back in its holder it would randomly start up again after I had walked away from the bathroom. I learned to take the spout out of it to prevent the extra spurts of water. I tried recharging it fully before using it. I tried putting it down very gently and reversing out of the bathroom on tiptoe. All to no avail. The night I wrapped it in a towel and put it in the kitchen sink, it still got into my dreams and became a super-sized wasp burrowing through a pvc door to get to me. Its final destination became the tip. I like the small electricals skip there because it is easy to identify what can be slung over the side. I really dislike going when I have a whole heap of random stuff that has to go into a variety of skips, but a simple visit is satisfying. I bid it a fond farewell as I watched it drop because it had served me well.

The clock that was edited out of my iamb recording by creator and curator Mark Anthony Owen, and also appeared in my poem ‘The Clock Ticks Louder Now’ has gone to start a new life with a new owner. We originally rescued it from a charity shop for £3, and it has now returned to attract a new owner. It will enhance someone else’s house because we have decided to home one of Kath’s Mum’s clocks that did not sell at auction. Our new clock is beautiful in a different chunkier way than the red one. It is a clock that does not tock or tick whilst it tells the time. There will be no more removing of the clock from the room each Monday in order to record my podcast. And now I wonder whether the owners before us loved it until they too noticed the volume of its counting of the passing of time. Perhaps it is one of those clocks that will enhance a good number of homes in its lifetime.

If you didn’t know, February 2025 sees iamb celebrating being five years old. That’s twenty waves, 320 poets and almost 1000 poems. It is a wonderful site and it is so good to see its continued growth. A site with clarity and vision that truly celebrates poetry.

In other news, I am eagerly awaiting the photographs that will show me inside my drains. I will be admiring these as the face-to-face report I was given tells me they are good drains, on a good gradient and are working effectively. So even though they are old they are standing the test of time. I didn’t just wake up one day and decide I wanted to see inside my pipes. A house survey for the new neighbours showed them there were some issues on their side so I felt it would be good to check what was happening over here! I remembered being fascinated when issues at school meant I got to look down a wide range of drain covers and saw ladders, huge depth and the slow movement of waste. It was fascinating.

My thinking on my walks has become clearer this past week. There was one walk where I found myself thinking that seizing the moment is great, but that blue skies don’t necessarily mean it won’t rain, so checking the weather forecast adds an extra layer of information that is likely to be valuable. It would have saved me from one very wet sweatshirt.

Choosing poem of the Month for my YouTube channel brought me to THIS IS THE LAST DAY FOR CHERRY FONDANT FANCIES so I will also share that here. Its title comes from a promotional email I once received which tickled me.

THIS IS THE LAST DAY FOR CHERRY FONDANT FANCIES

and I don’t know

if it is the final day this season

or the very last day ever.

I have never eaten one,

but I do know the chocolate,

lemon and strawberry ones

from my childhood

came in neat half-dozens.

To me they looked like the kind of cakes

that Alice would love in her Wonderland.

But no matter how many times I tried them

I could never love them.

Too sweet, too sickly

on too many Sundays.

And yet if there were cherry fondants tomorrow

I think I would take a box just to test

how my tastes are these days.

WHAT WAS I THINKING?

This morning the air wraps around me with its cold temperature and brings the smell of raw cake mix. It is the unbaked beginning of a day.

Alt text says this week’s photo is, a red sign with a smiley face on top of a wood roof. I say it is a fence rather than a roof and a frying pan rather than a sign. I saw this on a winter walk and remembering repeating the route on a different day to see it again because it felt cheery and fun.

There seemed to be a lot of thoughts in my head on a particular walk this week. The seeming randomness of them appealed to me, but I also longed for elements of silence as I walked because I seemed to be staying in my head not looking at the surroundings or the view. Perhaps there were no buzzards, no singular robins, no territorial squirrels, but perhaps too I was not in a ‘noticing things outside of me’ frame of mind.

I had the rhythm of 4 in my head as I walked and I wondered why this kind of counting featured. I have noted elements of counting to 60 before which I think are my way of seeing how far I get in approximately one minute and seem to tie in with my Hurry Up Driver when I feel the need to get something completed. I don’t however recall a focus on 4. This led me to wonder why it wasn’t in 8s, I thought of people using 8 as a dancing count so I tried this, but it didn’t feel like it fitted at all. I imagined that I would actually need to dance to make this effective and my walking feet are not for dancing along. It might look funky though. I could picture it, just like I can imagine somersaulting down the aisles in the supermarket, but like my circus skills it’s not a reality.

I had chosen the circular route. I thought about walking this particular route the other way round if I did it again at a similar time because when people came towards me in bright sunshine I was readying to greet a silhouette rather than a person. My greeting seemed to change from person to person on this walk more than usual and I was curious in what it was that generated each response. A ‘morning’ here, a ‘good morning’ there, and sometimes a ‘hiya’ I also wondered why I talk to some dogs and not others.

A twinge in my back had me altering my walking posture to ease it. And then, just as I was picturing myself bending over to relax my muscles, a cartoon speech bubble appeared in my mind, enclosing a line from ‘Beauty and the Beast’. And then somebody bends unexpectedly, it sang.

I wondered what would be different when this walk was a true habit and how my body would feel in a more regularly exercised state. I had already mixed it up today and gone back to the shorter circular route because I didn’t fancy the there and back again I had been doing all week. And now there was an urge to take a drive for a walk somewhere else, to broaden my vision. Followed by a momentary longing for spring when I slipped on a small patch of black ice that had escaped my notice. (Twice I did that this week, in the exact same place!)

The slippery patch marked me being about halfway round, and I used the homeward section of the journey to call to mind the joyful silence of a walk earlier in the week. I was now also beyond the fumes on the main road. This was a good place to take stock and let myself revel in noticing the quiet and noticing that for as far as I could see and hear there was no one else on the road right now. I felt myself tuning in to the way my head was clearing, and pictured the yellow brick road I had brought to mind during a recent coaching session. On that road I was feeling content in the middle of my journey, and here too was a momentary peacefulness on a grey, damp road.

After I had found myself wishing for such things, I did receive a blatant sign of spring. It came in the form of a plump, bright green caterpillar that landed on the back doormat after I had visited the compost bin. I am not sure exactly where it was before it became attached to me in some way, but I returned it to the outdoors world to continue its transformation.

I wish you thoughtful joy,  and offer the following poem which I wrote recently for Top Tweet Tuesday…

THIS IS THE DARKEST SEASON

The tilt of the earth’s axis

offers us to Winter.

We cling on

fingers numb.

Remember Spring my love,

hold tight with me.

Look how the snowdrop

umbrellas lime-green down there.

Remember Spring my love,

hold on.

Let me show you sunrise

clementine the sky.

TWELVESES

This morning the air carries the dull scent of newspaper print. This strikes me as a contrast to last night when it was stirred with the magic of wood smoke and incense. The moon, jacketed in clouds, has waned to 58%, and in hedgerows the birds are welcoming one another to the day.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a plate of food with a bowl of fries. I say it is our ‘on the road’ evening meal on a day where late elevenses of tea and cake became twelveses, and lunch a little while later was a shared meal deal. Sometimes in someone else’s town it can be difficult to know where to go to eat and I am grateful to the local person I asked for advice who recommended this place to us.

I have motivated myself to get back into the swing of walking this week, and found joy in noticing the changes in the hedgerows and in the amount of light at different times of day. I have been amused by the sound of a squirrel warning off a dog from the top of a tree, and pleased that the days are increasing in length which widens my choice of when to walk. I thought I had a great video of the squirrel growling out its warning and then leaping from tree to tree until I watched it back and found I had held my phone upwards all that time and then actually pressed record as I walked away. So instead of punchy squirrel I have a five second video of my feet as I attempt to watch back my non-existent video.

My main walking motivation comes from my current mantra of ‘steps I take today are making future steps easier’, and I am enjoying tracking my progress. After a limited number of steps in December I can see that I am now building back up to where I was in November. The graph of brisk minutes, and the distance ring on my phone are useful tools in keeping me going me even though I pretty much do the same country road route each time at the moment! It helps to have the Snowdon goal in mind, but there is something really positive about it becoming habitually good for my mental and physical health beyond this. It is good to feel determined. It is also fun to remember the different times I have climbed the mountain or been up on the train in the past. All very different experiences, and each one special.

I had a dream this week where I was climbing Snowdon with my brother and sister. We were all kitted up, about a fifth of the way up and striding well when they said they wanted to take something back down to the car. I wanted to carry on to the top because I wasn’t quite sure we had let mum know what we were doing and I didn’t want to be late! Here it is in a poetic form because it felt good to set down a vivid dream that quite amused me when I woke up. (It’s got that recurring essence of ‘Hurry Up’ in it too.)

AND ALL I WANTED TO DO

was get up that mountain and down again

tell my mum I was coming back

if she could just take the pies out of the oven

and wait for me.

But I couldn’t get the message to send

and the batteries in my torch were failing.

It’s a bit like a companion poem for Hanging On which features in Gallery 4 – a gallery of dreams, in my second collection ‘Welcome to the Museum of a Life’…

HANGING ON

Sure of the rope that had me swinging

certain the rungs were wooden

I thought of the grip of past climbers.

All the dirt pushed into the twists

smoothed and darkened

by person after person.

And here I am

three-quarters of the way up

suddenly swaying on unanchored plastic,

with the realisation that the ladder is inflatable.

I cling on;

tell myself height is irrelevant

that I was ascending before.

Say that, if hand over hand

worked a few feet in the air,

there is no reason to doubt it now.

I will the sway to stop

keep listening.

I go faster

desperate to outclimb that gentle

puff of escaping air.

PONDERING THE POSSIBLE

This morning the air brings a vanilla scent – essence of cake not ice-cream which seems strange given the iced snow that covers one side of the pavement. Somewhere above the clouds the moon is waxing to fullness, and I realise I don’t know what vanilla looks like before it becomes darkened pods. Gentle trickles of water and the fact the cold doesn’t reach my bones as soon as I am outside tell me the temperature is rising.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a sign on a wall. I say it is the Ponderosa sign with a cardboard cutout of Dolly Parton on top of the wall. I won the cutout in a competition some years ago and enjoyed taking it on a little tour! The picture seems apt given that the following snippet from an interview with Dolly Parton has floated in and out of my mind over the past couple of weeks while we have not had access to a shower: “In the winter time, we just had a pan of water and we’d wash down as far as possible, and we’d wash up as far as possible,” she says of her childhood days in rural Locust Ridge, Tennessee, a mountain community in the northern valley of the Great Smoky Mountains. “Then, when somebody cleared the room, we’d wash ‘possible.’ That’s the way it was.”

I definitely lingered in the shower when we booked into a hotel for a couple of nights and let myself revel in the absolute joy of being in the moment under plentiful running hot water. It brought to mind the feeling of having the first bath or shower after a week’s residential trip. Always welcome, but the one that topped the lot came about after a camping trip with a group where all washing had to be done at the basins in the shared toilet block which never seemed to be empty, and because of the rain, always had a full range of muddy footprints of different sizes on the floor. When the children went out for the day on a trip with another group of staff I decided I would seize the moment to treat myself. I found one of the six old brown washing-up bowls that we had used to transport the trangias after we had put washing-up liquid on the outside, boiled a kettle and gave myself a ‘foot spa’. I washed the bowl thoroughly afterwards and returned it. What I didn’t know was that a visiting cook would choose those large washing-up bowls as the perfect thing for making that evening’s butterscotch dessert in.

My exercise this week came in the form of arriving home and needing to shovel the snow off the driveway. This was the first snow that I have cleared here that I haven’t watched fall. It was a satisfying job because it had compacted and therefore came off in slices that I could shovel up and sling into a large pile. I do like this kind of physical movement, and it reminded me of when we first moved in here and the whole back garden needed clearing and digging over. The poor mrytle having just recovered from the last heavy snow now has another broken branch and looks to be entering the spring in a strange shape this year. Which reminds me… I need to pick up the pace with my walking exercise. I have missed seeing the graphs, and numbers on my fitness apps track my progress. I think they think I have hibernated. Here’s to regenerating my morning motivation to start the day well, and to preparing for my Snowdon climb later this year. It’s been quite some years since I last walked up, and I think I need to get cracking on the preparation so that it becomes possible to enjoy the whole experience. I am holding onto the fact that every walk I take is part of the journey to improved fitness, and being in a better physical shape. Steps I take now will make future steps easier.

We were late putting the Christmas tree away and finally managed it this weekend. Just when I was deciding whether to make the journey to the under the house storage to put it away or put the kettle on, there was a loud rumble as the snow on the back roof slumped to the ground. My momentary laziness saved me from having all that fall on my head! My knees also saved me from a sore nose when I decided it would be a good idea to take a photo of my face print in the snow. (I saw someone do this online and it looked pretty impressive in the same way those pin frames used to so I decided this would be a new kind of photo for me.) I put some cardboard down to kneel on and then used my hands to steady myself before getting ready to go full in. My hands did not even dent the snow because it was like ice! I am glad I found this out before putting my face in. I guess I will need to wait for fluffy snow for this kind of photo opportunity.

This week I choose to share ‘Car’ by Sarah Connor. I am lucky to have known Sarah as a poet and blogger and am grateful for the sparkle she put in the world.

Car

This car is full of ghosts – echoes of us,

trailing muddy boots, wet swimming costumes, snatched coffees.

Oh, we’ve lived here. Spilt water, secrets, fizzy drinks.

Shouted – at the radio, at the sat nav,

at each other. Told our stories of successes and betrayals.

We’ve slept here, heads lolling

on the long road north.

We’ll clean it out before we sell it:

gather up old receipts for faded clothes,

stray Lego bricks and crumbs and seashells

that we gathered and forgot about.

Perhaps the future owner will still feel us

there – a waft of woodsmoke, or of chlorine,

or ice-cream’s vanilla kiss. Perhaps

a giggle or a grumble from the back –

or perhaps the radio will play

an old Ed Sheeran song,

and we’ll be there, singing along –

some of us out of key, or out of time –

still driving down these country roads.

READER, I DONNED ‘EM

This morning the air smells cold, and there is a transparency to its freshness. I think I almost catch an essence of almonds, but am mistaken. Soft flakes of snow float down before turning to rain.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person and a person wearing Christmas lights. I say it is me and my big bro donning the fairy lights, and smiling for a photo. I enjoyed a range of family photographs with the lights, but did not manage to capture any ‘head through the festive wreath’ photos this time round. I will hold that thought for next year and find a nice one to take on my travels with me. The lights were good though and even helped my visibility on a slightly foggy evening on a stroll to meet with dear friends when we were on our travels down south.

It was foggy again on Christmas Eve which gave the perfect opportunity to sing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with gusto. I don’t remember being out on a foggy Christmas Eve before, and I liked the fact that finally it matched the lyrics of the song. I didn’t see the reindeer though. Not like when I was little and I swear I got out of bed in my attic bedroom when I heard sleigh bells, to see Santa’s sleigh pulling up into the sky by the light of the moon. I also swear its image was etched in the ice on the window as proof when I wondered if it had been real.

This year gave me my first real experience of not knowing what day it is in the period between Christmas and New Year. I have never really experienced this vividly before, although I do understand the way days can roll into one when routine is not in place. But this year events mixed things around and I had Fridays that felt like Saturdays so it seemed I did the same day twice, and I thought it was still New Year’s Eve on New Years Day because I didn’t stay up for a midnight walk this year. There was a need to be away from home longer than planned which led to me driving home to pick up medication that I needed. Having identified a window of opportunity before the forecast snow was due I found myself briefly back at base packing some bits and pieces and substituting two mince pies, a bag of crisps and four biscuits for a healthy dinner. It was delicious and hit the spot, but made me chuckle as it probably wasn’t in line with my Snowdon training. 2025 is the year that my sister and I will climb Snowdon so that we arrive at the summit for sunrise. A guided walk for charity because we want to raise money for Cancer Research, and also because we are not competent to find our own way very far in the dark let alone up a mountain.

I have set resolutions along the lines of ‘to get fit’ in the past, but this year’s goal of being fit enough to enjoy walking up Snowdon seems much more focused and more fun. I haven’t walked my daily steps yet this year, but there are milestones in place that will help with this and our date is in September which allows plenty of time.

Holding steady in more difficult times reminds me why I love to celebrate joys of all shapes, sizes and intensity. The joy of watching my family unwrap their presents, the joy of seeing what people chose to gift to me, the joy of shared meals, quizzes, laughter, fairy lights, half price mince pies, Brussels sprouts that travelled many miles in the car, the moon with Venus on a clear night.  

Today I will share a poem I wrote on the 6th January 2019:

Epiphany

Today the sea danced.

Rocking and rolling brand new rhythms,

flirting with the sky for colour change.

Slapping out its energy, it lifted itself

sent its white curls up and over.

On the wet width of the promenade

we stepped a hurried waltz

to dodge its high jinks.

Stopping to frame the horizon

I caught the scent of summer –

cold but definite.

Against shades of blue,

stirred with the grey-green,

you smiled.

At last you let me photograph you.

DONNING THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS FOR SHENANIGANS

This morning one star holds fast in the sky as the wind blows in swirls. The moon was full yesterday, and it was Cold Moon. I have my sense of taste and smell back, but this morning I can only determine a slight essence of cold box and those frozen blue slabs that keep the temperature of such things cool.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a stuffed animal with lights around it. I say it is the photo of Ronnie from this time last year, and he is celebrating all those people who add sparkle to the world.

Shenanigans. I love this word, and its recent regularity in my life. In fact I would highly recommend having a friend who responds positively to invitations for shenanigans soon. Although having said that, when I sent one such message the other day I had to check I’d sent it to the right person because there might be contacts in my phone who would wonder quite what was on offer when receiving a message that says, “Do you fancy shenanigans again soon?”

I had a thing about checking the meaning of words a little while ago when I found myself wanting to see the two different meanings of shenanigans and to check my use of the word enterprise. I had forgotten what first attracted me to the word enterprise and was delighted to see the following definition: a project or undertaking, especially a bold or complex one. Bold, I like bold.

There’s the jaguar (enterprise) and the playful cat (shenanigans) showing themselves again! Having learned a lot this past year about how these two elements of my personality come into play I reckon 2025 might be the year in which I can learn to balance them particularly well. It will definitely be fun finding out.

In the meantime, this festive season I am making it my mission to wear my Christmas lights on as many special occasions as possible. I have decided they can enhance even more things as well as being donned for waving to Father Christmas, and being worn to seasonal poetry events. There might even be some good photo opportunities along the way. We got a memorable set of pictures on a Staff Christmas Do many moons ago where we each took a turn putting our head through the venue’s Christmas Wreath so it might be time to recreate that kind of picture too if I see one when I am out and about. It is nice to be contemplating such things after being laid low by covid and having a couple of days where the energy for such things seemed somewhat depleted. Here’s to all kinds of frivolous joy and merriment.

This time last year I was celebrating the completion of the taught part of my coaching qualification and remembering not to wait until the very end of something to celebrate it. There’s something about taking time to pause on the journey to take stock. A real value in taking time to see where you have come from and give a gentle nod to where next without being focused on what you consider to be the finishing line. It was also at this time that I invited people to share a hot chocolate with me in celebration. I rather like the idea of another shared hot chocolate moment so if you’re up for it, do make one and raise a toast to something that you are currently celebrating, and I will raise a toast to you as I drink mine. I will start by toasting a wonderful friend who recently completed a Diploma in Mental Health Leadership. She already does superbly valuable work, and I love that she has continued with studying and gained a new qualification.

Last week I recorded my poem ‘Snow’ in celebration of its publication in the Black Bough Christmas & Winter Anthology. I have received some lovely comments about the reading and there is a real joy for me in being able to do this and to see how far I have come in building my confidence to record my work. The Black Bough anthology includes a wonderful range of writing, and I always feel proud to be in the pages. Last year it allowed me to set down on the page our family tradition of The Man in the Moon which began when my sister was little. In evenings in the lead up to Christmas I would take her out for a walk to breathe the magical air of Christmas and as we were walking the Man in the Moon would send us clementines. They always tasted extra delicious from being out in the cold.

Writing each year for possible inclusion in the pages of the anthology has enabled me to reflect on a season that I used to dislike, and I have thoroughly enjoyed finding out which bits I particularly love and want to celebrate. The following poems have all featured in the pages and give a flavour of my reflection on the season…

WINTER’S THREAT

I remember winter’s threats from past years.

He says he will work in all the dark hours.

He says he’ll be spinning out discs of ice

setting slip traps.

He sends hints of snow,

a taster of what will be dumped down later.

He hangs the cold crescent moon in the sky.

I long to curl in silent hibernation.

OUR MAN IN THE MOON

Sleight of hand when darkness settles.

We are out to breathe

the magical air of Christmas.

You look in wonder

as the Man in the Moon

sends a clementine fresh from the sky.

Brightest of oranges.

Each segment refreshing cold.

SNOW

I could feel the weight

of the approaching fall

even before it came.

The sky a heavy yellowed grey,

that scent in the air nudging me with its cold hints.

I swore to love it this time

to watch the flakes spin down.

No more willing it to stop.

I stood under a low-slung crescent moon,

marvelled at the layering

of all those six-pointed stars.

May your festive season have moments of merriment and joy that etch themselves on your heart.