walk the green labyrinth,
end the year at the beginning,
follow root and stem to the source
December began with rain and wind so strong I thought the trees might blow down. But it is so much warmer now and the days are longer – the light and warmth make me happy.
The end of the year is coming so quickly, and with it comes the start of a new year. I wonder what 2020 will bring …
standing tall
arms heavy with flowers
you reach for the earth and greet the sky
This time of year – The trees are waking – stretching, rolling their shoulders. Their arms are laden with flowers, gifts to the warming air and the bees. Gifts given freely, part of the exchange between earth and sky.
filling the space,
every window shows your face,
your multitudes, your bright insistence
February calendar post at last!!
Why has it taken so long – no idea – beyond printer not working, going back to work after summer holiday, and putting my time into painting.
Anyway – here ‘tis. This is my world, my green view – this is what I see if I feel like a spot of daydreaming.
And now that the cicadas have come out in force at last, I wonder if a big shiny insect might have been a better image. Still – they need the trees and trust me – they are all over these.
at the end of this year
there are new beginnings
we look forward …
We’ve had sunshine today, and rain, and thunder – and now the sun is out again. Reminding me that all things change, seasons pass, years too.
December is my my birth month – I always loved it as a child. It’s the month that held my birthday, the end of school for the year, the start of the long summer holiday, and Christmas. I remember hearing Santa’s reindeer on the roof once when I was about seven. I was absolutely sure of it. Now I think it could have been the Deer Mother and her kin.
Now this Sagittarian is thinking about the coming year – pulling back on the bow – wondering where to direct my attention – patient and strong enough to wait and hold – until I’m ready to release the arrow.
relax, walk, watch the sun set
It’s that time of year – two more weeks of work – then the summer holiday. This is the time of year when I have time to slow down, and reflect. It’s the time of year when I used to explore new ideas, try out new pursuits.
What I’m proudest of this year is that I’ve made time, taken time, for personal interests throughout the year – specially the latter half of this year. I’ve started drawing and learning to paint. I’ve noticed that as I shift into this visual world my writing has gracefully taken a back seat – but I’m sure it’s going to surface again soon.
What I’d love for next year is to find a way to combine paintings and text into artworks that balance both sides of my soul.
out of time / out of place
drenched in sun
heat soaks into skin
warms the blood, reaches bone
flesh swells, hair bleaches
this is no drying, endangering fire
this is lifeforce
entering, awakening
days of sun repeat
beginning to trust
each night will turn to light and heat
blue sky endless
breeze just enough to cool the skin
fat bees fly past, heavy with pollen
cicadas call, birds call
sheep call and answer
the wind finds voice
whispering through tall, pale gum trees
my silence and life’s song
under the summer sun
out of time / out of place
tuning in to nature
ready to respond
ready to become
let the wind move
through me
find your voice
in me
I am open
to the world’s will
and every bug and bird
and bud and tree
and river, rock, and mountain
move in me.
©clairegriffin2017
This was written just after xmas when staying at an old farmhouse for a few days over the summer in 2011. I had been lying out in the sun, reading a book on journaling, in that state when you’re searching for something but you don’t know what it is. I was looking outside myself – I hadn’t yet learnt to look within – but I was getting closer…
This is one of those poems that came very quickly – all except one word. I was stuck on the word that needed to sit after ‘rock’. I puzzled over this off and on – then left it for ages. Its interesting that its now (after settling on Rimutaka for my mihi just a couple of weeks ago – see the previous poem “the heart of this hill”) that mountain seems to fit perfectly.
Either just before or after I wrote this, I went for a walk along the dusty gravel road – and as I walked round the bend that led slightly uphill – I had a sense of, a desire for, everything to be white. Almost the sense of wedding the land – sinking into, and becoming one with, the land around me. I remember thinking that if the sun was to vapourise me in that very moment – I would be content.
27 December 2011 – completed 16 September 2017.
©ClaireGriffin 2016
the ground beneath is hard and dry
not a place to rest, not a place to lie
this far down was only ever for foraging
wind-rivers here can not carry
but blow dust flurries into eyes
dust rose and settled, glossy black coat undone
reaching into air but finding no purchase
eyes opened blind to the sun
fallen
fallen
this far down
all horizontal, all solid, all still
body cooling under sun
hard nest of stones and dust
bones and black
sight gone, shine gone
fallen
still
walking home she saw the contrast
black against the blonde ground
small lost body in the dust
she sensed fragility
approached cautiously
blew gently revealing the dull eyes
fingers nested, lifted
warm hands enclosed
one finger stroked away the dust
revealing the shine
compassion carried him away
her quiet voice shared secrets
whispered into tiny ears
she found a box and a doll’s blanket
and made a bed
she lay her black prince to rest
she knew this sleep was forever
there would be no wakening kiss
she tucked the blanket around him
to comfort and protect
a final nest
and blessed him in silence
a small child’s sacrament
a small child’s attempt
to honour the wild world
to care for the fallen
to an only child
anything could become animate
anything could become the voice of her imagination
he was her pet, he was beloved
he was a sleeping prince
a treasure, a secret
a gift from the world she walked in
at one with the raw pure energy of childhood
not yet disconnected
she felt the need to share
this treasure felt too much for one so small to hold
she showed her mother
expecting softness and awe and sensitive respect for her care
the mother snatched the box
threw it in the bin
half-filled with ashes from the coal-range
clouds of grey ash rushed up on impact
then settled slowly over the small black body
this last wind
this last nest
a desecration
a child’s heart broken
looking down
the blackbird thanked her, blessed her, kissed her tears
she would remain known to the birdworld, the greenworld
the elemental consciousness of nature
granted access
and held the thin door open
© Claire Griffin 2016
rain fall on summer green
invisible necessity 