Rainy day mumbling

Wednesday October 25, 2006

It’s been a day for standing in the window, hands shoved deep into pockets, watching the rain. There have been some damply dry intervals and even, for a brief period, a smear of sunshine. Mostly, though, we’ve had rain.

Dolly and I have taken advantage of each dry spot to pop out into the garden, me with a plastic carrier bag to spread on the damp bench, both of us determined to take as much air as we could manage. In the circumstances.

I left the front door firmly closed, though, raiding the fridge, freezer and store cupboard for food. I don’t generally walk out in the rain unless it lasts so long that I get cabin fever, and rain-swept supermarket carparks are close to my unfavourite places to be. I have to go out tomorrow, regardless of the weather. It’s forecast to be brighter and drier tomorrow.

So, between dry intervals, I mumbled around the house, catching up on laundry, leafing through books of poems, surfing online art stores, and munching my way through a large bag of tangerine oranges.

In the morning, looking out of the french doors, I was struck with a poetry particle and started out, mumbling quietly to myself, working out the words, keeping the ones that fit, dropping the ones that don’t and, by the end of the day, had a brand new poem to show for my time. There’s riches in them thar mumblings, if you know where to look and how to see.

 

Safe journey
 
On a dull damp Bridgwater day
I stand in the open door, contemplating
a wet path leading to a wetter garden.
 
Across the path a pallid slug
glides its three inches of length
in search of edible foliage.
 
The cat, in passing, sniffs without
much interest, causing the eye stubs
to withdraw into the gelatinous body.
 
The rain increases, the cat comes in,
I close the door and, looking through
the glass, wish the slug safe journey.
 
John Bailey
October 2006, Somerset

 

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