Sunny Lalli

Walk by Helford

Can you knit me sinews of leaf and bark,
a roof befitting of cathedrals and lofted steeplejacks?

Can you knit me a domed nave of swag and trail,
stitched stubborn leaves
of weft and wave to thread this,
a blanket of still
repose before the gears of tomorrow
stir and clank after Yuletide slumber?

Seaforth.

Benches with leaves

Dreams of the dancing ping of whizzing balls flurrying back and forth in giddy days of warmth. Let fall fallow rest of paddle and ball until better days.

Steeple tower of old church.

“Hello”, it said… (at St Winwaloe, Gunwalloe)

This gunnel of water punches to water’s edge where fresh meets salt.
It makes no apology for funnelling true as a trench, a determined fist punch piston to the Atlantic, cleaving a beach in two, the separation of sands; this bid to reclaim if but for fleeing fleeting pocket picked of time.

Horses grazing on cliff top fields

In the company of the industrious.

The curiosity of the shape of rocks. Out of the sea it clambers to land and becomes land itself. What do we see, Lamorna?

Sniff, whispers of winter wash by.

Tricky coastal path that my sister tried for the first time. Was jolly glad of the flat home run via Trevassa.

Rocks by Zennor

The kiss of titans hewn of rock and fissure
that embark from the folds of deep time, to alight at the precipice of land and water. Deep time carried in the wind and wings of eras, clad against a window of the brink that corrals all efforts of imperative impermeance.

Sunset at Godrevy.

To imagine, the wisted want of every creature.

Some spectators stubbornly stay aloof serenades of shanties and spectacle. #Falmouth #seashanty

Where is home?

What is exile?

Novelist Elif Shafak on identity.

My ‘big’ life in rural Wales In the countryside, the small details have more meaning

Kiran Sidhu argues that, in moving from the city to the country, she hasn’t “swapped a big life for a small one... Nature’s place in my life has simply become more prominent.”
www.prospectmagazine...

How did this bale of yarn of flax and sprung pitch up lost on the path. I wonder did it ever find its way home, or did it stumble upon a new calling, snag and snug at its noose, collared to shepherd or haunt wayfarers?

You are right & I should have been more explicit to differentiate between memorialised benches and the unmemorialised where the former are primarily tethered to the lives that claim the bench, inviting us to sacred acts of veneration. I was thinking more benches with no plaques, nameless benches.

Bench at National Trust Glendurgan. One of my favourite sanctuaries.

I have always been fascinated by benches, either memorialised or otherwise unadorned & unclaimed. Why do they hold sway in my thoughts? Is it because their empty berths speak of the gaping chasm of a life unshared, & the spectacle of a bench casts a glimpse to another life of nestling, held hands.

Agreed, a grand vista of the big screen to offset the claustrophobia of the enclosed rooms, the fists of factors, tight corridors marooned from expansive plazas.

Agreed, Philippa; my sister, mother and I watched the film yesterday and we concur with your review.

Contemplation time.

Days of flourishing.

Words To Live By Number 199

Young people, teachers, parents: Action for Conservation, where I'm a founding trustee, runs free Summer Camps to inspire 12-16 year olds to a lifelong love of nature & conservation.
They’re really fun.
Applications now open:
www.actionforconservation.org/camp
Pls help spread the word/RT!

Hi Emma. Good to hear from you. Hope you are doing ok. Gosh, the sunshine is such welcome tonic. Cornwall singing in sunshine. 🌞

Golden days at Glendurgan.

Coastal path to Maenporth.

What is the truth of a New Year?
Is it a revolution, a revulsion or mere evolution that inherits echoes of before?
Perhaps it marks a reset, a firm end stop that presages turn to a new chapter, or merely a kink in the path which calibrated by a few degrees denotes a press of the tiller pen? #newyear

taken by Astronomy Photographer of the Year 2021 entrant György Soponyai, shows the changing arcs of the Sun throughout the year. The smallest arc at the bottom marks the winter solstice, and the largest one at the top the summer solstice. The band in the middle is the 'equinox', with roughly equal hours of day and night.

Happy Winter Solstice to all those in the northern hemisphere! The precise moment to celebrate is 9:21am GMT. Today in London is only 7 h, 49 min & 42 s long.

Pic by Astronomy Photographer of the Year 2021 entrant György Soponyai.

Solstice explanation & more here:
www.rmg.co.uk/stories/topi...

Road to the Helford river

Winnowing way
tumbles into satin silver
of winter’s way.