Showing posts from May, 2013

House and Garden.

The Munot, Schaffhausen, taken on Tuesday.
The flight to our holiday destination with relatives in Kanton Schaffhausen in Switzerland was as smooth and stress free as these things are possible to be. We checked in on-line, took only hand luggage and left our hotel near the airport with good - but not too much - time to allow us to leave the car in a secure car park, take a very short bus ride to the terminal and walk straight to security. As we passed through the main departure hall the place was thronged by multitudes of people lugging huge cases and an enormous queue that shocked me. It was only 5am on a Sunday morning after all.

The side of the house. 'Klosterli'  {The little cloister}
Upstairs the line for security was small and we were scanned and through in a few minutes, leaving us just enough time to walk to the departure gate and relax a moment before being called forward to board. Our flight meant a change in Amsterdam and again, once off the plane we casually walke…

Getting away from it all.

By the time I can post this for you to read I’ll be sitting cosy in the house of my wife’s Aunt and Uncle in a small village in the very north of Switzerland. We’re on a fortnight’s holiday with the other side of the family, relaxing and reconnecting with a special place full of very special people. This year we won’t be doing as much travelling as we have often done in the past. We’ve decided this will just be the chill-out of all chill-outs.
The final day at home was filled with the kind of last minute prep or panic as some people unforgivingly describe it that us men are experts at. In my defence I’d say that years of living away from home have made me blasé about packing and I can do it in about fifteen minutes and as for the rest: weather and work has been against me. The garden has been slowly burgeoning since I last worked out there and has been much in mind as needing attention but every time I’d some time available to do it, it has been raining or the ground still sodden fro…

The Sunday Posts 2013/The Puppy and I

I met a Man as I went walking:
We got talking,
Man and I.
"Where are you going to, Man?" I said
(I said to the Man as he went by).
"Down to the village, to get some bread.
Will you come with me?" "No, not I."

I met a horse as I went walking;
We got talking,
Horse and I.
"Where are you going to, Horse, today?"
(I said to the Horse as he went by).
"Down to the village to get some hay.
Will you come with me?" "No, not I."

I met a Woman as I went walking;
We got talking,
Woman and I.
"Where are you going to, Woman, so early?"
(I said to the Woman as she went by).
"Down to the village to get some barley.
Will you come with me?" "No, not I."

I met some Rabbits as I went walking;
We got talking,
Rabbits and I.
"Where are you going in your brown fur coats?"
(I said to the Rabbits as they went by).
"Down to the village to get some oats.
Will you come with us?" "No, no…

The Sunday Posts 2013/ Dreams

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.      

Langston Hughes.
Photo by Alistair.

The Sunday Posts 2013/ Ations

If we meet and I say, 'Hi,'
That's a salutation.
If you ask me how I feel,
That's a consideration.
If we stop and talk a while,
That's a conversation.
If we understand each other,
That's a communication.
If we argue, scream and fight,
That's an altercation.
If later we apoligize,
That's reconciliation.
If we help each other home,
That's a cooperation.
And all these actions added up
Make Civilization.

Shel Silverstein.
Photo by Alistair.

The Sunday posts 2013/ Likenesses

It comes to mind,
Where there is room enough, water goes
Between tall mountains and small toes.
Or, if I like,
When sun rises, his first light explores
Under high clouds and underneath low doors.

Or, {doing it still}
Darkness can hide beside all that it hid
Behind a nightfall and a dropped eyelid.

Why do I add
Such notions up, unless they say what's true
In ways I don't quite see, of me and you?

Norman MacCaig.
Photo by Alistair.