Monday, 1 April 2013

april 1 2013 with cairn

its always sound first-
stirring wind that wipes the face and buffoons and bubbles across the air, the pull back and push, tide-like deepening and flittering with catkin drumming
empty branches at field bottom roar like soft gongs
it could all be different cars, lorries, planes but right now it is all made by breeze layering in among the beginnings of leafed trees - high spot hums with sun, tremendous roar of the holly trees high winds ruptures it
even gate shocks as it clatters back
I am here with cairn and he is using the net finding dead frogspawn and not much, it is the coldest easter on record - I hope it all limps back to life
my son, MY son, sits in the ruins of his great great great uncle's farmhouse and the ancestory becomes live - I somehow thought it was amazing to end with me but seeing him there, near the beehives I see that ancient history, family history, can hold him too when he is lost,