the work of bees

The work of bees – these tiny creatures embody the valuable traits of collaboration, perseverance, dedication – they have no words for these things – they simply go out every day to forage and then return home with the raw materials to ensure the future of the next generation. Honey – the sweet product of their work. 

I wonder how much sweetness results from the work I do …


eye to eye

When she was young, she was abandoned,
she was pregnant, she was making do,
wary and opportunistic.

She was found, she was ill, her babies died,
and I had just seen the movie based on the life of Frida Kahlo,
when I saw this small, thin, lost soul in a cage,
for sale, marked down, half price.
Frida she was then, in an instant.

She came home with me.
She was half-wild, wouldn’t be held,
ate fast and then straight outside.
We found she’d made the compost bin her bed.

But she brought us gifts in those early times,
daily mice, some dead, some alive,
and three arranged in the driveway
like an installation artwork.

There was the rat, that looked like someone’s pet.
There was the tui, injured, flapping,
that I drowned in a bucket, while I cried
and she stretched out in the sun

There was the day I realised she was using mirrors
as a way of watching and staying safe.
There was the day she walked into the room and stopped,
and looked, eye to eye, heart to heart.
It proved to me, that patience is worth it, that patience heals.
Two years of waiting evaporated in her eyes.

Today she sleeps.
She sleeps and when she’s not sleeping, she wants to eat.
Having an appetite is a good thing.

And she has developed the habit of scratching the sofa, or trying to.
It’s a dance now, that we both share.
She stretches out a paw and looks my way.
I say no, and her leg lowers. She holds eye contact.
After all these years, she uses her eyes to get what she wants.

I move to the kitchen and squeeze cat food from the packet.
She eats, she climbs on me, and sleeps.

She knows who I am now.
She snores a little
and every breath
is the sound of trust.




thoughts on the colour blue

I think of water
salt and fresh
rain and wave
spring and snow
I think of tears

the sea is blue
the sky is blue
lakes and rivers and
your eyes are blue

what else?

on my windowsill
my tea caddy, my teapot, a vase
and nestled deep in memory
your willow pattern plates
your cornishware jars
and my eyes and Billy’s eyes
and your eyes
all blue
all together
in a small dark wooden house

blue is the colour of love
and I lose myself
in its deep waters

now, in my garden
there grows borage and thyme
lavender, sage and rosemary
ajuga, hydrangea, lobelia
and delphinium
for years now
I have been cultivating
food for the belly and the eye
for the heart and the soul

it all comes back
to our eyes
the windows to our souls
and all the earth’s water
the eyes of this land
and our blue planet
seen from space
as if the universe was watching
holding one eye closed








Version 2

indulge in the sunlight, accept nature’s gifts
grateful for the positive glorious energy
the earth shares with us

We’ve officially had the worst summer in years – with many places experiencing lower than usual temperatures, rain, and lots of wind. It improved a little during February and has certainly been better the last couple of weeks, so I’m looking forward to more sunshine. Today is the start of Autumn, and we often have some glorious days during this time of year.

Interesting that I chose this photo and wrote this verse back in December, without really thinking about the seasons. But this is exactly what I need now.