I may have been missing from within the walls of the library during most of October but that does not mean that I have been idle.
I have ran Loch Ness during a marathon. I’ve run a writers’ retreat in Italy and I have just returned from tutoring under 16s on an Arvon Residential at Lumb Bank in Yorkshire.
October has always been my favourite month, just like autumn has always been my favourite season. I know that having my birthday at this time has something to do with it.
But this year, 2013, has taken this time of year to another level, as I have collected such fond memories and life-changing experiences this year.
I do feel mighty blessed because of the activities and connections I have had the pleasure of living this month. Thank you.
I would like to share the group renga we made on our first day of the Arvon Retreat. This was created by the lovely, talented writers of Walker Technology College.
At the Foot of the Lane
To a steep incline
an oak giant clings
by thread roots.
From green to gold,
like a chameleon the leaves melt
from emerald to orange. Always.
The overwhelming smell of pine.
The dim light of the silver encrusted moon,
valiantly, the soldiering river rushes by.
The trees guard its course.
Winter is cold and you are like an icicle.
The sound is unreal, you can hear cracks
in the ice.
In the far distance, all I can see
are the glittering lights from
the snow that falls onto the frozen tree.
Above the moon
below the river the stream is going like a feather.
The misty, dull sky sheds its cold tears
like a weeping child.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, surely a small bud of colour unfolds.
A rainbow grows of green and gold.
A flower blossoms.
The sky stands above us,
candyfloss surrounding us.
The birds are singing in the bright blossom trees
gathering for a bird meeting.
Flowers shoot into life, the sun rises to warm meadows.
Bright flowers shimmer as a slow, silent wind passes.
The pink blossoms
are the candy floss the forest.
Bad to eat, good to look at.
As the waters rush through the mossy crags
the ruby leaves glisten as the sun shines through them.
The mossy trees are emerald green
and autumn leaves falling into the river.
The dark hawk hovers
over his unfortunate prey.
The bright shimmers hit the water
and it’s still hot under the light of the moon.
The valley is crisp, fragile.
Everything is trapped, immobile.
Huddled, the trees on the hill from a tableau.
A walking renga in Autumn
Lumb Bank, Heptonstall
Tuesday 29th October 2013
Sheree Mack (Master)
Mr Webster (Host)
Mrs Webster (Host)