I was walking down from Croft Ambrey towards Croft Castle recently and happened upon a time when the poetic side of my brain seemed to awake from deep dormancy to intense creativity. Every part of the landscape seemed to speak to me and I responded with my voice in words that flowed with ease and freedom. I was reluctant to stop and try and write everything down as it would spoil the presence on the experience, so I sat down in the walled garden a short while later to try and jot things down. Alas, the creativity had gone and I was left with only a few memories that in no real way captured the real essence of what I had thought. I don't why this happens - perhaps it is to do with stimulation from the natural world or a relaxation of the mind when time is spent away from day to day thought processes.
Anyway, this is what I will write after looking back at my notes a day later:
Down the grassy hill I walked
towards the great old spiralling chestnuts
and now beneath a fruitful apple tree
the poetry I sang seems faraway.
I'll never understand the poetry of life.
The twists and turns like the falling of leaves
and the breeze that carries thoughts
like a bird on the wing
with freedom it flies in the wilderness of space.
A jay - from branch to branch
with a flash of white;
and a pigeon a fluttering of grey.
The crow, dark and heavy with steady flight
and a squirrel hurrying away
with chestnut to a hidden place.
....
And I can't remember anything more - but it went on for ages.
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