Blue

I’m waiting for the words to come.  I’ve waited since the turn of the season, for my mind to follow the industrious tide of spring.  Waited for dreams nurtured by the winter dark to emerge into the light.

Spring passes in waves.  Daffodils blaze and wither.  Cherry blossom unfurls and melts, polka-dotting the grass.  Dandelions turn to clocks.  Hawthorn blossom and cow parsley flourish.  After each, I sense a pause, when the days hold their breath and things are hidden from view, until the next wave arrives.

Spring delivers its gifts.  It passes quickly, as inevitable as the tides, but I wait in vain for the words to describe it.

I watch the two carrion crows resident in the park build their nest.  I see them pick fur from the grass and peck strands from an old hessian sack in the middle of the road.  I witness them mating on the field.  Their nest is visible in trees that are only now bursting buds, but is too high for me to see what is inside.  I hear a regular caw from the nest and watch one crow forage and chase seagulls from the park, beak only centimetres from wing.

I observe the spring rituals, feeling the season pass me by.  And still the words don’t come.

I find a tiny goldfinch nest in a small maple in the square; a soft, furry cup almost part of the tree itself.  I watch blackbirds collect worms for their young.  Listen to the chitter of blue tits and the harsh call of the chiff chaff.  I watch an oystercatcher, foraging among a posse of magpies and wonder if he has mistaken himself for one of them.  A blackbird and a magpie perch in the same tree trying to out-sing one another.  I find a dead rat, tiny pink paws curled tenderly.  A minute later a magpie swoops down and begins to feed from its corpse.  Spring is bursting but my words are fallow.  It is one of those seasons when the mundane world takes over and there is no energy left for creation.

In the hedgerows it is the white season, but in some places, it is the season of blue.  Beneath the shady trees of the cemetery, the froth of cow parsley tangles with the azure of bluebells.  It is another gift of spring, this treasure of blue.  Blue has always been a precious pigment.  It took time, effort and expense to source it.  It is a colour of joy and harmony, yet also describes sadness.  I suspect the words this season will continue to be elusive, as precious as that pigment used to be.  But I will seek them where and when I can, and though the fallow period isn’t over, I finally find some words to describe it.

79 thoughts on “Blue

  1. “And still the words don’t come.” How strongly that resonates with me, Andrea. And I’m sad to say it has been my lot for years.
    But though you may not realize it, you certainly spoke with magic for this post. The photos are wonderful too. The old gravestone amid the wild flowers is particularly compelling. Huge hugs to you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. A beautiful post, Andrea, and description of the waves of life that wash through the spring season. I can see the season through your words. I particularly love your description of blue. Thank you!

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  3. And describe it well, you have. Your photographs and words conspire to have me sitting right in your park with you, Andrea, listening to the birds and watching for a sign of their young. Our words always come at just the right time, and I have no doubt yours are busy among themselves preparing to emerge reflecting all you’d like and when you least expect it. Patience, my friend.

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  4. Lyrical in blue and white, both in photographs and words! If nothing lies fallow of course, there’s little crop… yet sometimes (as with words) we miss seeing the beauty of the weeds! Your lovely piece reminds me of Hopkins:
    What would the world be, once bereft
    Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
    O let them be left, wildness and wet; 15
    Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

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  5. Andrea the richness of this piece is deeply satisfying. From the delicate photos, to your watching and listening, to my favorite line of all: “Waited for dreams nurtured by the winter dark to emerge into the light.” That is the most descriptive of word pictures. Such a pleasure to visit here.

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  6. Beautiful pictures Andrea. And I loved your description of blue – very metaphorical. Your words seemed to flow here alright, but I know what you mean. I’m going through a phase where I don’t even want to write…be thankful that you’re more resilient than me! 😊

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  7. Andrea , your searched-for ‘words’ seem to have come flowing freely. A most delightful piece. Most of the rest of us only wish we could express ourselves so beautifully. I love graveyards too – such places of peace, and wildlife. They are treasures’ and ‘lungs’ in a busy urban environment. Your’s looks a real haven. Thank you for sharing. I do enjoy your closely observed small details.
    — Richard

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    • Thanks Kerry, it has been a blue season all round I’m afraid! But don’t worry, my writing voice does tend to the melancholy, but I think of it as the cosy melancholy that you get when it pours down with rain, as it is here today 🙂

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  8. In the midst of trying to write yesterday, I got caught up watching a crowd of white-crowned sparrows picking through our ground-ivy-overrun back yard. The neighbors complain of yards like mine, more ‘weed’ than grass, but I wouldn’t trade that sea of blue flowers for any golf-course-grade lawn, and if the sparrows love it, all the more do I. I’m glad we’re both getting enjoyment from our ‘fallow’ time!

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  9. It’s very blue outside in my garden, as I look out of the window now. Thank goodness for blue flowers, when all the sky can offer is grey! My words are not bountiful during the blue season, but keep coming in short bursts with long blanks in between. I love your peaceful pictures, Andrea, and the gentle flow of your accompanying words.

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  10. I have to agree with Richard. Most of us wish we could express ourselves so beautifully – I cannot even fathom how this could have been any better if you did find your words!
    That said, I realise that this is not what you mean when you say you are searching. It is “easy” to simply described what we are witnessing than to come up with something “original” from within – I am choosing my words very carefully here and I don’t mean easy and not that this post is not original! But am sure you know what I am trying to say!
    Thank you for sharing your Blues with us.

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  11. Reading your post, I feel like I’m riding a blue wave of calmness and yet productivity. Spring is such an amazingly productive season, and yet it’s calming too as the flowers move us into stillness and love for life. Believe me, Andrea, your words work just fine in this blue season. Lovely lovely lovely.

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  12. What glorious nature you have, Andrea! Your description of the bird nest and the dead rat and all are magnificent, as are the photos. So lovely. I’m glad you finally found the words to describe it!

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  13. I love your descriptions of the things you have seen and the photographs of the flowery cemetery are beautiful. My younger daughter is currently struggling with her art and because she cannot find inspiration to start anything new and cannot find the enthusiasm to practise methods and styles she is beginning to think she might not be any good and won’t be able to make a living from her art. She, like you have been, is in a barren place. It is such a demoralising time and the longer it continues the doubts and fears just seem to get more insistent. Like a forgotten name, it seems the more you try the less likely you are to succeed. I am sure you will find your inspiration again – I think this post is wonderful!

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  14. sometimes the words don’t come…. and yet you’ve shared a rich treasure trove of them, along with some poignant photo images. love the fresh blossoms gently enfolding that old log.
     
    blue is probably may favourite colour for flowers… more often than not, those kind of blues make me smile. thanks for sharing.

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  15. And beautiful words too …
    Yes, the varying emotions of blue.
    If ever I want to be reminded of the power of that most superb of blue paints, Ultramarine, worth more than gold, I just need to see the ceiling of Giotto’s fabulous Scrovegni Chapel in Padua.
    The ceiling is the deep, vibrant blue from beyond the sea sprinkled with gold stars. (Apparently this was also the design on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel before Michelangelo got his hands on it.)
    Thank you for your Spring blues.

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  16. That looks a beautifully managed piece of land Andrea. I love it when wildlife is left to flourish like that, maybe with a light and sensitive touch to deal with invasive species. If I’m to be buried I’d like it to be somewhere like that 🙂

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  17. And what beautiful words you share here, Andrea. Your descriptions and pace are completely engaging, and bring us right into this curious place. Even when the words seem locked in, the senses do not stop.

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  18. Beautifully written, Andrea. I especially loved the imagery of “Daffodils blaze and wither. Cherry blossom unfurls and melts, polka-dotting the grass. Dandelions turn to clocks.” Gorgeous pictures too. I’ve been experiencing spring here. Turkeys loitering in the backyard. Robins nested beneath the deck. And a coyote chasing a fox down the street. And violets–they are gathering and inspiring me. 🙂 Hugs!

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  19. I find there are some times when I’m just pecking at the writing and others when I get into my stride. Recently it has definitely been a pecking time and not much larger vision. Completing work is as much about riding out the difficult patches as doing the actual writing I find. And here’s a cheery quote the kind I come across when it’s all a bit too much: “Writing is hard work and bad for the health” E.B. White. Time for a walk I think! Lovely writing from you as always, thank you.

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  20. Andrea, your words don’t fail you in this wonderfully descriptive and melancholic post. A deeply spiritual poem about Spring and its nature – poetically capturing its very essence, for example with this sentence: ‘Beneath the shady trees of the cemetery, the froth of cow parsley tangles with the azure of bluebells.’ You write with a deftness of touch and I hope the fallow period you mention may soon be over, you have so much to say and with such a skill. 😀

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  21. I am invested in the words you do have my friend! I love your observations of nature and the mention of hessian sack had me smiling, it sounds so medieval, it adds to the timelessness of nature. Don’t feel blue (see what I did there?) for your words are always a vehicle to transport me to the best places.

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  22. The words came to you for this post and perhaps this is a start to the end of the mental block that you express to us.. The flowers around the headstones invoke a sense of being lost, mirroring what you speak of… Sending many hugs for you as you navigate your way xx

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