the air on my lips

Last winter, I couldn't smell the winter. It bothered me. Maybe it's because I live in the city now, that I've dulled my senses a wee bit. But I used to be able to taste the Autumn coming. Either you get it or you don't. How am I supposed to explain to someone who just doesn't get it?

You sense the cold first. On your nose and on your lips. Your breath rolls around your tongue and out to mist in the air. Cordite from the guns and the fireworks. Woodsmoke. Hog-roast on a spit in the square down in England. Leaves found their way into the fire again. Check for hedgehogs! The cold keeps you awake - alert. Alive. Sharp. Pints are colder.

Back in Aber, your breath misting in the pub or classroom when the heating isn't up and running that early. The door to the Machar opening, a gust of wind and a car wooshes past. People turning to see who's come in and brought the cold with them. Damn, I love the campus in Autumn. Seaton Park gets golden. St.Machar's towers about the trees. Write a fantasy story about it.

Even the cemetery is beautiful. Blankets on the ground. Like I said, you get it or you don't. Don't stand there, saying it's cold. Of course it is. Listen. Taste. Smell it. That's nature, my friend. That's being alive. Lap it up.

The sooner you understand this, the sooner we can get a cup of tea indoors, ha ha. You were right, it is getting cold.

Hurry up, Autumn. I missed you.

Master Hunter

Das ist des Jägers Ehrenschild,

daß er beschützt und hegt sein Wild,

weidmännisch jagt, wie sich's gehört,

den Schöpfer im Geschöpfe ehrt.

This is the hunter's badge of honour,

that he protect and nourish his game,

hunt sportingly, as is proper,

and honour the Creator in the creature.

sonnet 147

Damn, he knew what he was talking about...

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

"Home" song

I wish I were with you, I couldn't stay
Every direction leads me away
Pray for tomorrow, but for today
All I want is to be home

Stand in the mirror, you look the same
Just looking for shelter, from the cold and the pain
Someone to cover, safe from the rain
All I want is to be home

Echoes and silence, patience and grace
All of these moments I'll never replace
Fear of my heart, absence of faith
All I want is to be home

All I want is to be home

People I've loved, I have no regrets
Some I remember, some I forget
Some of them living, some of them dead
All I want is to be home


-- The Foo Fighters

just grand

I'm grand. Thanks for asking.

'A New Day at Midnight'

Definately in the running for one of the the most tender, most beautiful and most evocative song he has done. Why it was a so-called 'b-side' I just don't know. The man is an artist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh my word, I've never seen
A day so gold and earth so green
I put my face into the stream
That I might see what might have been

Oh my heart, how time has flown
Feet that pass along the stone
I hardly recognised my home
All the paths had overgrown

The music and the laughter gone...

Upon my soul, I've never felt
So free of all the chains I'd built
All the pain and all the guilt
Vanished now beneath the silt

I'm stridin' 'cross Orion's belt...

Oh my word, I...I
Oh my word, I...I
Oh my word, I...I
Oh my word, I...I

- 'A New Day at Midnight' - David Gray

nowhere... fast

These days, no matter where I am, I feel I have to get away after a while.

It's a classic - I suppose a psychologist would say I'm running away.

Maybe.

I always thought of it as running towards something.

But I just have to get away


from myself

'sky'

you used to share
each tone, each shade
you'd describe how
the light would fade

each cloud formation
caught your eye,
you watched the stars
as time passed by

at the time
I thought it sweet,
but somehow childish;
somehow meek

but now you're gone
I can see why:
When I think of you,
I watch the sky

I see each tone,
I see each shade
The light, like all, my dear
must fade

beware the fairies

Harper - "The mind's a funny thing, so it is Sir. I had an Uncle once... convinced the fairies were after 'im 'e was"

Sharpe - "What happened to 'im?"

Harper - "Oh, they got 'im..."