Our wild cherry plum blossom on a sunnier day.
Hello again! Thank you so much for joining me here. I’ve been taking a break from blogging, if not from writing, for a few winter months. But as the days are lengthening and the sap is rising I’m emerging from winter hibernation by the fire.
Yesterday, for #International Women’s Day, I joined some of the wonderful women and men who make our small town such a special place. We’d been invited by Counsellor Caroline Page, who organised the very special gathering despite seriously failing health. There was cake and poetry, an old wind-up gramaphone, and Suffragette colours – a celebration of women who had lived in the town in years gone by as well as those we know and love today. It was full of life and joy and friendship. Many people shared, and I hope to be able to put a link up in time to more details about the poems and stories that we read and heard together.
That morning, I’d been watching the pigeons in the trees in front of our house – a remnant of an ancient hedgerow we’re gradually restoring – and took inspiration from their eagerness and their clatter. So although this is not a poem about women, it’s a poem about life, for all of us I hope, and the awaking of spring. It was my contribution to the feast.
I’m sharing it as part of my inclination to awaken and to clatter, to be hungry for spring and for life. I hope you enjoy it.
Pigeons in the blossom – Early March
Now that the cherry plum
is blossoming – hedgerows
white and frothy,
flowers pale, bark dark –
pigeons come through
the grey sky, clattering as they
land opposite my window,
their collars brighter than
the blossom where they
perch and peck.
Sometimes one, often
more – armfuls – they
balance across the scrubby tree
like vintage decorations,
nodding their blushed heads
hungrily, pecking so many buds.
The top of the tree is almost
stripped bare – no fruit high up then,
no precarious balancing
on shaky ladders
in the summer to come.
Lower, thinner, branches are tested
again and again by fat feasting
pigeons, hungry for rich bitterness.
I feel inclined to join them,
to taste that blossom too.
I know the hunger for spring,
bone-cold and weary as I am.
And I am coming to see their wisdom
as I too feel the urge
to awaken and to clatter,
to feast on life with its bright blossom,
its green buds, again and again.
Pigeons seem to be a bit of a theme. Not the most popular bird, I know, but I do enjoy watching them. I do hope to be an equal opportunities appreciator of nature, and to celebrate all the creatures who share this patch of garden wild.
Here’s a few more poems, if you’d like to read on.