So. Yes.
Anyone who knows me and my family will know what’s going on just now.
But, onto other news.
Mincers are in the production room, finalising the tracks and just amazed at the capabilities of the producer, Michael. Thanks are also due to Steve and Audrey, with everything happening in their world they make sure that I am picked up and set down, where I need to be.
And Paul takes me to Loch Leven, so that he can have a bike ride and I may totter amongst the bird hides. Last weekend I saw a hen harrier there; I haven’t seen one since Sherry & I toured Islay with mum and dad in 1979, on a bird watching spree. We were all in a caravan, based in Port Wemyss, a suburb of Portnahaven. (That’s a wee joke, there are about five houses in Portnahaven.) Anyway, I was reading out loud a guide which instructed us to follow a set route and look out for an HH, and just as we turned the corner, there it was, sitting on the fence.
And as I was listening to an Annie Lennox CD earlier tonight, I recalled this poem, by WC Williams.
A Negro Woman
Carrying a bunch of marigolds
wrapped
in an old newspaper: She carries them upright,
bareheaded,
the bulk
of her thighs
causing her to waddle
as she walks,
looking into
the store window which she passes
on her way.
What is she,
but an ambassador
from another world,
A world of pretty marigolds,
of two shades,
which she announces.
Not knowing what she does,
other
than walk the streets
Holding the flowers upright
as a torch
so early in the morning
I may have thought his poems were a bit rubbish back then , but God knows they have been stamped on my brain for thirty years since. Barely a day goes by without me quoting one to myself. So, WC Williams 1, Kirsty 0.