…nearly there… tell the Gods…

What chill songs the winds sing to the trees? The subtle fragrance of Daphne, hangs on the icy breeze. It tells me, soon, beneath the hoar-frost freeze, life returns and the colours bright, can bring me to my knees.


Although, technically it is now spring in Oz, would someone please inform the weather Gods! Mother Nature appears to know, no one has to tell her! She’s sprouting and blooming, blossoming and popping colour, all over the place but the temperatures are that of the Arctic. Snow to 1200 forecast today. So! Weather elementals …please have pity and send us some sun.


Contemplation …a week for writing, being still. Taking time to simply be a part of the landscape …merging with it …letting it absorb me …and then, it speaks volumes.

There is a quality to endless, streaming light

against the backdrop of the sky …the silver orb at night

There is a quality to a sad, haunting refrain

sweeter than the sound, on a parched day … of pattering rain

We cannot quantify, each moment deserves its time

Just as we must pass …in our individual, complex rhyme

…of liquid notes, their quality unsurpassed

Unseen footprints, across dew besprent grass

There is a quality if light, reactive to our mood

A time of grief, when in sadness we may brood

…on all that went before …and is now lost

Perhaps our brooding changes weather …if so I’ll pay the cost

…for today it’s windy, bleak upon my hills

Even in the sunlight, I am wracked with chills

Yet I trust the quality of life that feeds my hungry soul

…and replenishing, to overflowing, fills

There is a particular light at Beyond the Gate Farm, I haven’t seen anywhere else …ever-changing, moving …sometimes of split-second timing to capture. Well my trusty old Konica does, more often than not and the resulting moments, fill me with delight. It is this that grounds me back into my domain …my sense of belonging may still straddle two continents but home is where I am.

Meld Picture 3

Under windswept blue skies, continued rain with bursts of sunshine, nature awakes. Work in the greenhouse, finally begins to take shape …weeded, culled, primped and tidied, when the weather is fine, or writing reams, when the promised storms break.

A deep purple sunrise, fades to red

Rain soaks the soil in a garden bed

Pale blue skies, turn grey

on another windswept day

Magpies warble a sweet lament

Trees rustle softly, boughs pliant, bent

in supplication to the season change

until proudly, their green buds burst, to rearrange

the colours bright, in wood and field

giving promise to a year of growth, to yield

a garden of food and flowers bright

to store for the days of the long dark night

So on the farm, despite the continuing cold, life blooms in the fields and in the greenhouse as slowly buds stir and green fronds unfurl, in answer to the unheard call of spring and finally I can get grubby and muddy, even though my fingers and toes are numb.

I love a day of grubbiness

…all cares just fade away

I love the smell of muddy soil

…and the scent of aged mulch-hay

I love the sight, (and sound) of a snoring cat

…when she sleeps away the day

And the wild little dog, too fast to pat

…when all she wants is to play

Then, of course, there’s the ever-constant friend

…and the sound of the mechanical “snap”

as shutters whir and lenses blur

…on a wet and windswept day

…be blessed in all you do and please tell the weather Gods

…it’s supposed to be spring

A Wild Spirit at Beyond the Gate…


All photography, poetry and text, copyright Penny Reilly



2 thoughts on “…nearly there… tell the Gods…

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