Friday, September 29, 2006

Autumn fungi















(c) A Mc N

First fire

It was the first fire of autumn.

The smoke stung our eyes and stained our skin but
Together we fed the hungry flames.


We were hunters and gatherers,
Collecting clippings from the newly barbered hedge to offer to this
Strange capricious creature,

Hissing, spitting,
huffing with acrid breath.

The fire tightened our faces until the skin was thin and taut with heat;
But a few steps away the cool September air
Goose-pimpled our naked arms.


We spoke the small-talk hunters ever spoke
And we gathered memories
like we gathered leaves.

Overhead, between the spiralling, shifting columns of bonfire breath;
The autumn stars sang in the huge lonelinesses of space,
With only their fires
To comfort them.

(c) A Mc N


The bittersweet smoke of the first autumn fire echoes the emotions of a season where the year dies and yet - more than any other time - is pregnant with life.

Harvest hedge

Although the air was September-fresh and fitted tightly round the skin,
It sang like summer and the plump berries shone like bells;

Blue sheen of sloe,
Red shine of rosehip;
Pregnant hawthorn and the purple wine of brimming
Blackberry.

Hedge rows alive with a rare, rich alchemy;
Harvest-light sparkling in the nooks and crannies of branches;
And a parable half hidden on the horizons of consciousness...

Something about age,
And fruitfulness
And the nature of beauty.

(c) A Mc N

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Dancing on water




















(c) A McN

To have been there..

On the hillside where the barriers broke down and the crowds gathered together with a mix of curiosity and hope;
There were people like me, knowing from the inner aching that there was more to life than we had ever been told.

And here it was.
Not shrouded in mystery or clouded with ritual.

Here was wisdom, gentle, teasing and shining with life,
So different from the cynics
And so different from the priests.

Just being there made you feel clean and fresh inside.
He spoke of seeds, harvest, the birds of the air and the lilies of the field.

It seemed so obvious. So right.

And everything he said was underpinned by the

Bouyant expectation of a father's love
Brimming over.

I had never thought of God like that before.

I have been to that hillside many times in imagination.
But I often long to have been there on that day,
To feel the sun kiss my face,

To scent the dry grasses and the flower-confettied meadow while his words
Hung like a rainbow over us all;
Making it all so simple, so obvious,
So beautiful
And so true.

(c) A McN

The Sermon on the Mount (Gospel of Matthew chapter 5-7) neatly summarises the radical, revolutionary nature of Jesus' teaching. Our society is more complex than 1st century Palestine yet human nature is remarkably unchanged and these precepts still resonate with a reality that is as true as it is unattainable by human effort. Which is where the grace of God comes in.
Oh to live more deeply in that grace...

Posh dinner

It was part of the conference. A tour of the Guinness Brewery
Followed by a posh dinner.

I meant to go,
But there were streets to walk down, a canal to watch, places to explore and a
wasteland of dockside development to be lonely in.

So I walked. A stranger in drizzling dark in an unfamiliar town.
I felt the loneliness I needed to feel and the freedom of that loneliness.

Then I went to a late night shop to mix and match some supper. Instant soup, a roll and cheese.
I felt the simple frugalness I needed to feel and the adequacy of that frugalness.

Only when a flurry of rain shook the outstretched leaves of canal-side trees
Did I scarcely think of the posh dinner;
And rejoice because I wasn't there.


(c) A McN

I have many friends who enjoy their food and wine, finding my odd tastes little short of madness. To me though the essence of travel is to absorb a place from the viewpoint of its ordinary inhabitants, not its elite. My lonely wanderings (often with a camera) give me a richer set of memories than another meal in another location.
So it's not just my innate dislike of crowds and fears of social ineptness.... honest.... :-)

Same Mould

I watched you on the beach,
In the cool. clear evening light;
Moving like a crab across the
Glistening pebbles,
Blue bucket swinging idly from your hands.

I had been calling you from the spiced air of the barbecue,
But my words drifted like smoke.
I stood, holding your plate of hot food
While you, a hundred feet away,
Stood in another universe,
Deafened by wonder.

At last I realised your world was the better of the two.
Slowly, almost reverently, I walked to you,
Feeling like a disciple at his master's feet.

You were alive with discovery,
Herding crabs, tracing the hypnotic sway of anenomes, and watching the slow glide of winkles on the sand.

And I knew
From the deep love I felt for you
And the intense clarity of the moment,
That we both came
From the same mould.

(c) A McN