There is much I would like to say and not much that seems to be sayable as I amble – or hobble – through this typical April day. Incidentally, the gap between generations sometimes surprises me. I was talking to my osteopath’s receptionist yesterday about the weather being very seasonal and I quoted the song: ‘Though April showers may come your way/They bring the flowers that bloom in May.’ The receptionist was very moved by the idea and I realised that it came new to her.
I quoted a few more lines. It is indeed a lovely lyric. She also complimented me on my recall of it, poor though it was.
Because, as I said, there’s nothing sayable that I feel I can say at the moment, I resort to my journal and quote some lines which take things forward – and back.
July 26 2008
Buddleia blooms lean towards the grass,
Indicating summer’s end.
They spring from grey walls, graffiti scrawled,
Where trains crawl into the great city.
Yellow toadflax flowers clothe railway sleepers,
On half-forgotten sidings,
The chipped granite, home to decaying wagons,
Where cobwebs cling to bramble fruit.
And meadowsweet and elderflowers
In green Welsh cuttings and by the northern seas
Cross over the seasons, staying late
Where the corn is yellow and due for the harvest.
