I see my mind as a tapestry woven through with memories, dreams and thoughts.

Friday, 27 January 2012

Fun Friday!

As seen in the Departures building at Madrid's Atocha Station

Waiting for a train

Off on our hols!

Hurry! It's about to leave!

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Thought for Thursday

A view to savour ....


Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Wednesday with Words

I am off soon to meet up with my sister, in Tampa. We hope to swim again with manatees, which is one of the most glorious experiences of my life ... pushing through the tangled roots into the lagoon and watching, being still and watching, as the manatees and their babies slowly rise to the surface for air and then waken to make their way out of the lagoon, through the narrow channel on their daily forage; picture rush hour on the metro escalators and you have it!

If and when I surface, I shall be back in blogland.

¡Hasta luego!

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

A Small Taste of ....

'The Canterbury Tales'

'Whan the Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath pierced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So pricketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages .......'

Geoffrey Chaucer

My thoughts are of the flow of the words, enticing one to join the pilgrims. The rhyme and rhythm are so beautiful that one does not need to analyse each word but just allow the whole to flow.

What are your thoughts?

And writing poetry was often something that Chaucer did in his spare time, as he held many different postions over his fifty six/fifty seven years of life.

Sunday, 8 January 2012

Sunday Snippet

Of Kate Atkinson's books, this is one of my favourites. 'Emotionally Weird' is described by the author as 'a comic novel'. And so it is. I am including two snippets (of which the first portrays thoughts and the second depicts a scenario, in a rather whimsical manner):

'What if I didn't leave Bob? What if our slouch towards commitment ended at the altar? What would it be like if I occupied the wife-shaped space next to Bob? My life as a wife. In a Barratt's starter-home, with an avocado bathroom and a three-piece suite in leather. If we ever had a child (curious idea) I thought we should call it Inertia. Although our occasional dull missionary encounters didn't seem passionate enough to produce anything as real and lasting as a child, even one called Inertia, and Bob (more likely to consult Mr. Spock than Dr. Spock) wasn't fit to be in charge of a push-and-pull lawnmower let alone a baby in a pram.'

'On the dull stainless-steel draining.bvoard a huge raw slamon was laid out as if waiting for a post mortem.
'We're having a party,' Archie said, indicating the salmon, rather morosely. It didn't look much of a party-going sort of fish; its silver lamé scales may have gleamed under the kitchen lights but its dead eye was lustreless and fixed and it had leaked blood onto the draining-board. The cat made a great pretence of not seeing the fish.'

'Emotionally Weird' by Kate Atkinson

Friday, 6 January 2012

The Music in the Trees

This post is dedicated to Melissa and her trees; also to Jamie, who many years ago, put my poem to music.

The Music in the Trees

There is a music in the trees
that lilts the air and,
sensitive to much,
their boughs bend down
to listen to the ground.

The ground is warm.
The ground is dark,
but often ill at ease with
the burdens of the company;
and then it gladly listens
to the music in the trees.

Ann Sharples

Wednesday, 4 January 2012

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Tuesday Taster

I received this book for Christmas ... and am now reading it.
Here are the opening two paragraphs:

'The pavement rises up and hits her, Slams into her face, drives the lower rim of her glasses into her cheek. She is laid out there, prone. What is this? Voices are chattering above her; people are concerned. Of course.
She says, 'My bag'.
A face is alongside hers. Woman. Nice woman. 'There's an ambulance on the way, my dear. You'll be fine. Just keep still till they come.'
'Your shopping's right here. The Sainsbury's bag.'
No. Bag.
Bag is not. She'd known that somehow. Right away.
Another voice, up above. Man's voice. 'She's been mugged, hasn't she?. That's what it is.'

'How It All Began' by Penelope Lively

Would you read on? I am.

Sunday, 1 January 2012

Sunday Snippet

I wish you all the best of years ahead. I shall continue to follow you and send a big Thank You to my followers; so encouraging to have you there.

This quote from 'Behind the Scenes at the Museum' by Kate Atkinson will see me into the year ahead .......

'In the end, it is my belief, words are the only things that can construct a world that makes sense.'

.... what do you think?

Added just for fun!