Tag Archives: Edinburgh

Florals

wisteria, I think?

 

 

yellows! and some blue

 

 

fluff and dock?

 

 

rosebaywillowherb

 

 

blackberries coming in

 

 

poppies on disturbed ground

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Summer, Night, Leavings

D and I are leaving Edinburgh, for Glasgow.

That means new neighbourhoods to explore. But for now – the old city, on a soft summer night:

 

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(flowers with and without the low-light setting)

 

 

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Train tracks leading outwards. Tomorrow is flathunting. For now, there’s sleep.

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May

This was a few days ago, but it is also May

This was a few days ago, but it is also May

 

A smudge in a grey dressing gown. I’ve been writing, too much. If that is possible. Fourteen flash in the last two weeks. More in a collection I’m building. But I’m beginning to feel the cracks. In among the cracks, the heads of cherry blossoms, folded neat as sentences.

 

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I’ve finished the book that took a month and a bit to read, and expect to review it shortly. When I am not a smudge sick with creativity. When I’m not pink candyfloss puffball seen torn through mist, adding up to – something. I pick up a book – Jamaica Kincaid’s Lucy, and hope I can devote to it what it deserves, and that it will repay me with severe and stinging balm.

 

More news here when it is to be shared.

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Seeing

st cuthberts

 

 

Damp and bright day. Reading flash. Drinking tea. Bouts of comfort and dis-. Writing, small pieces. Listening here. and here. Moored to the room, moored to the moment.

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Rain tonight

 

 

Edinburgh Castle at dusk

 

Rain at dusk, and rain later, and rain likely all through the night in the city. So, a poem for it, rural:
Some feel rain. Some feel the beetle startle
in its ghost-part when the bark
slips. Some feel musk. Asleep against
each other in the whiskey dark, scarcely there.
When it falls apart, some feel the moondark air
drop its motes to the patch-thick slopes of
snow. Tiny blinkings of ice from the oak,
a boot-beat that comes and goes, the line of prayer
you can follow from the dusking wind to the snowy owl
it carries.
- from ‘Some Feel Rain‘ by Joanna Klink

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Here and there we find an opening

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sunshower

 

 

I don’t know that these photos are any good; I was trying to capture a sun-shower that started up as I walked home yesterday, through Edinburgh’s financial district. It is raining in that top picture too, though it might be hard to tell. There’s always something magical when it rains while the sky is so bright. That gap in the bottom picture, beyond the cars, is where a plot of land stands empty and unsold. It’s all weeds and piles of earth that, if not one lays down concrete, will soon be covered in new grass, thistles, those waving purple-blossomed trees that butterflies are said to love.

 

I hope that if developers do take it over, they make it a park. To keep the opening, open, for just such times as these.

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Milklight

 

 

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I hardly have the art down, but sometimes the light’s like this, and it makes the canal softened, the path and rooftops metallic, the grass and hedge something from a painting by 19th century artist forgotten in a loft by her family for decades and then unfolded in winter. But here in person, it’s Edinburgh, October. 

 

 

In ten days I leave to be in the mountains and research flash fictional narratives and write the third novel, which is of beauty and of desolation. Edinburgh in white, explosive mountain light. Or what lights the mountains have, and I shall find out. 

 

 

I wish sometimes I could be better than I am. Cooler, sharper, smarter, more direct. But I can only reflect the places that made me. Like a book of photographs. Moors and hills, and the cities and towns of Scotland. Even New York couldn’t spit polish me, or Sydney buff away the mist. 

 

Ten days before I go. I’m not sure I’ll post before then. Maybe one last rallying shout. The explorer to her home-rooted crew.

 

 

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