Monthly Archives: March 2020

..the dunnock..

.. first page..

he wanted a love story.




deep pain she felt ; would kill her unless she did something.

unless she killed herself.


walking helped, always her remedy in challenging times.

the feeling of going forward , air brushed. body moving; speeding & healing, even with fatigue & grief dragging back.

she yearned for a new page, a fresh beginning.

wren had the will to start over and needed a challenge, something else.

for 23 years she had gone along with how things panned out without question, mainly content with this.

now after that night , she thought it time to be proactive, to do something to counteract her loss.

a bus ride then, up to llanberis, up the mountain to trek . the place where her father was born and had lived all his life.

wren had moved away in her youth, a job had come up in liverpool in the arts and she was accepted. as before she went with the flow.

she had not gone back for long, only to see dad. she never visited the village or wandered the lanes, listened to the voices.

a place of slate, of stones.

she had felt apart there then.


her father’s voice was enough, thick with the local accent.

her speech was affected by her time in liverpool ; reverted back unintentionally when she crossed the border.

she knew how she looked even without glancing a mirror. small., thin, bedraggled & careless, reflecting her mood.

her dad had named her after the bird with her being so tiny at birth. her bones felt brittle now like that bird.

a bird’s name

a bird’s frame

the bus came.

always on time

she wondered how they managed that with all the distance, the hazards between. one driver explained that he worked it one stop to the next, his eye on the time.

she got on, showed her pass and said she was heading for snowdon

” is that all you got” he said, looking at her bag. most passengers would have more.

” it is all that i have , yes, it is all i have ” she said and in that moment the idea came.

while walking

she will look for the dunnock.

the little brown bird found down in the dirt.

not many on the bus; all spaced apart. the driver whistled through his teeth breaking the air, while wren inwardly pointed to all the familiar landmarks on the route. she wiped the window with the back of her coat sleeve to see better.

settled for a few hours’ travel, her mind drifting back, thinking on that life changing moment

when he had said he wanted a love story

he had wanted more description, she suggested one used imagination.

** each chapter a day; each day a chapter, each chapter a bird.

each day a drawing**

.last page.

she wanted to find the dunnock,; she searched and found the dunnock.

“the dunnock died as all things die”

she chanted to herself while rocking.

yet yet

all had come round, come clear.

older now . body and mind.

she knew he had wanted a love story and while she imagined what he meant , she had found love in herself for this little thing.

the bird


now lay in her upturned palm. light ,still and hardly there yet very there. no weight in the little bones.

it had lived its time while she had watched daily.

the space between remembered.

he had been right when he told her that dunnocks were found down in the dirt.

a big man wearing binoculars looking for the hawfinch which frequented the yew trees by her father’s house.

she had stayed longer with dad than intended, explored the lanes this visit, stopped to hear the village voices.

this man had been a visitor and he was right.

there at the bottom of the hedge she had found it.

you have read what comes between these pages, the story of a spring into summer.

the story of a wren regaining hope.

that morning the letter came; she read that due to her long absence her job in liverpool had gone. at that moment she noted that her voice had changed back permanently with the border and the liver bird had flown.

she went to her dad at the gate and to the bird man; told him she would stay.

come home.

he touched her head lightly; the bird man also. the three walked back into the house together. they took the dead dunnock to preserve some how.

they closed the door.

you wanted a love story. this is now yours to keep. it is a gift.

snatches of a life of care.

the end page is shorter for most was said between.


you were retired when we met
riding your bike maybe daily

now you have honest work
and i hope you catch up today


so we were indoors sunday
the mill was closed in the storm
as were most places here

no one about to visit
to buy stuff

the garden is at all angles
stuff blowed about
blowed down with a
small hope to repair
today even with the
wind still blowing

i was ok here, the floods
were down the meadows
down along the estuary

others fared worse
roads closed and all
that worry

i hope you catch up today
that you are declared fit

today’s outing cancelled
no public transport due
to debris


so here all is noisy with wind

water in the cellar

all warnings are to stay put


public transport is cancelled

best to be careful they say

best to be sensible, so though

up early for work have made

a decision

and watch the curtains move

i feel that i am not good at

sensible, at being an adult

yet this time is ok

at this age a luxury

to try to be safe


and boring

while worrying about the flowers

getting beaten down

legs still in bed


we have a storm coming

mainly wind and rain

some of the trains are

cancelled disrupting plans

causing stress & worry

for those travelling including


yes, i have snowdrops of differing varieties

the plural of crocus, those early tiny daffs

known by another name and celandines

there is blossom out on the tree that scottish

power gave me to replace the one they cut down

in error

it looks japanese and is a lovely shape of angles

your weather sounds severe so stay as safe

as you can

a pleasant day planned

at home

.the crocus.

i have an empathy with the poetry thing

whilst riding a bike, as i cannot as i do not

have one

i think along similar lines in other situations

that may bring forth, then i get muddled into

the situations and nothing appears until years


that is may be why when visiting somewhere

amazing i do not take photographs and just

have the pleasure of looking and tasting

i planted honesty in the garden yesterday

amongst the edges and bracken

behind me in the sun the border all a riot

of little flowers

and i felt fortunate

i took no photographs

.the handy man.

heres hoping you rode your bike out through your area

to relieve the fever that may come with cold with too much

strong coffee

i remain tied to small things and tiredness still which is fine

when no one comments

then i thinks i have done things wrong again and fret

meanwhile apologise profusely while thinking of a future

plan for the space

are you surprised that the work has come egyptian

that i like his figure

do you have quiche over there?

we have a day at home

the handyman comes

which is handy

.laptop diary.

i have a new battery

so things come more



the timely pressure

as before

i went to see



well some of them

then to oxford to

see some more

yesterday went


today i work

and meanwhile

a yearning for a quiet day

while i expect on said quiet


will work

. because & unless .

because she loved it, she kept it

because she liked little things

because it came dirty she washed it and

because it was broke she glued it, displayed it

until she passed and they came to clear it, liked it

until they saw the joins and threw it away, yet remember it

until another thought took over and it was forgotten

until some one new found it

.white underwear.

he felt uncomfortable in his tidy pink jacket

too hot for the day

he always felt uncomfortable

anxious about doing, wearing

the right thing

he pushed his glasses into a better

position; they had steamed

his shadow long in the lowering sun

though he had the beautiful invitation

had accepted, packed & travelled to his

friend’s place

he felt awkward

brown leather shoes worn with socks

& regret; his slacks high, neat at the


he had always fretted over appearance

what to pack, how to prepare

hours staring the mirror considering his

shape. sticky taping every hair, each dust


from the fabrics

the obsession

he counted the trees, moved to the water

to hail his friend

stood dizzy poolside

his friend was only wearing white pants

he died inside


as ever felt uncomforable

( thank to d.hockney – the inspiration, the picture)


he had leaned toward me and commented

that i was getting old

and while that is correct i assumed from his

remark that he must be younger

time goes on and i am told that we are much

the same

i never could tell the time