October 2012

Watching the swallows gather here, like ourselves,  in the warm, Southern air, it’s strange to imagine their journey here, having left – who knows? from West Cork…  

Early morning swim.
Swallows skim the pool to sip.
Have they come from home?



Portugal! Watching huge flocks of stately stork silhouettes leave their nesting area in the morning and return in the evening…  

Like leaves in a spring,
storks spiral intricately
in Moorish patterns.



It’s wet, it’s mild, it’s cloudy and foggy, it’s all topsy-turvy the whole year, even the plants don’t know what to make of it:

The seasons, haywire:
rhododendrons flowering
as oak and ash bronze.



No sign of the Indian Summer for which we’d been hoping and waiting. In the woods…

Moss-dripping branches
reach out, creaking, to touch light.
Pine needles whisper.


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