MICH MARONEY Artist and Writer
RAGE OF THE MOON Rest, heavy head, on the wood Of the good, old desk-stand. Dreams must be understood And the right hand Feels for purchase upon A fine, old, open page Of writing lit by the moon And its light rage. FROM: ELIZABETH JENNINGS Timely Issues Carcanet
The hedge trimmers are now my favourite toy. The brambles had all been treated about two years ago with some kind of weedkiller and all the dead branches looked pretty hideous. I bought the hedge trimmers specially for this as I had tried to use secateurs which were just useless and the only result was that I got completely lacerated. I have found some lovely ferns growing, foxgloves and two lovely wild roses. I am hoping that all the wild flowers, brambles and ferns will be rejuvenated. The view from my kitchen window is also much clearer.
R came over with some lysimachia nummularia aurens known to us peasants as Golden Creeping Jenny. Yay! Thrilled and have just planted and watered them in my large urn.
Although it is only 5.30 I am stopping as I got eaten alive at about this time by about a thousand tiny insects. My head was a mass of lumps last night from the bites. Most alluring.
Its VE Day today. The bunting is out in force in England. My poor old Dad had to wait till August to be rescued as the Far Eastern POWs were only released after the surrender of Japan, after the H-bombs were dropped.
To me, it is almost unbelievable that comparisons are being drawn between the situation in respect of Covid, where all we really have to do is stay in and watch television, and WWII. People really have no idea.
Well, I feel very farm removed from all the rejoicing. 90 million dead. Carnage, absolute destruction. Bloodthirsty revenge. Those are the things that should be remembered. Soberly, and not with silly street parties.
Today the toast is to absent friends and family.
THE CREEKSIDE HERMIT 