More washing lines

I mentioned a little while ago that for some completely unknown reason, when I’m putting the washing out, whatever the weather, I have poetic thoughts. I really in all honestly can’t call what I write poems – I know too many good poets, excellent poets to say that! My small jottings do please me though, and that’s all that matters really – I don’t just write down my thoughts and leave them as written, I come back to them and tweak and pull them about, cross out, rearrange, add some more, puzzle over how to make them reflect what I was thinking and  make sense.

I was dithering about whether to put a wash on, looking out to judge the weather and the likelihood of rain. Living by the sea and right beside a hill, weather forecasts aren’t always as reliable as in other areas. Our garden is on the east side of the house, so at this time of the year when the sun is still fairly low, and swings south of the hill, the garden doesn’t always catch the sun, although it does get plenty of wind.

The clouds are high and grey
And the bamboo stirs,
The olive shivers and the holm oak waves.
This should be a wash day,
The clothes post swiv’lling
But will there be rain?

The air has changed;
And now the washing dries,
Shivering in a slight warm wind.
The air is full of birds,
They could be listed in
An eye-spy list,
A pair of wrens,
Blackbird in a hurry,
The ever present gulls
Protesting from the roofs,
The gang of sparrows,
A magpie pair,
The lumpy crows
And quick clever daws

The air has changed.
The washing dries,
Unpegged it tumbles
Basketwards,

And then the irony.

This is only fun, not to be taken seriously, especially the ‘swiv’lling’ which may see a little affected; however, swiv-ell-ing didn’t quite fit. Originally I’d had tumbling – but that gave the impression of the washing being in a tumble-dryer, so even though it matched the last few lines, I changed it. The ironing is all done now, by the way!

My featured image is looking from the beach inland, and in the background you can see the hill with the church on top. From our house we look up the hill to that ruined church. The white cliff face is actually the remains of a nineteenth century quarry. We’re looking to the east, and just look at those clouds, look at that weather!

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