Sedentary Sunday

Sunday morning. Palm Sunday morning.

Reading outside in the sun.

Slowly the town awakens, quite some time after the world had awoken.

Blackbirds are nesting in the bushes that border the garden; jackdaws in the tall chimney pots.

All unnoticed by the people returning from the shops with their six packs to greet the sun with, or driving around the estate on their noisy quad bikes.

Flaubert comes to mind: ‘Civilisation is a conspiracy against poetry’.

Maybe I’m getting old. Given to moan a lot.

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7 thoughts on “Sedentary Sunday

    • Remember that poem in Heading North called The Invisible Hills? A lot of people thought that they were largely metaphorical (and to an extent they were) but they are actually a reference to hills that can be seen in the distance from the estate on which I live. People only tend to notice them at that time of the year when they’ve had a dusting of snow. All except the poets, the wilderness lovers and the children.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, I do. Sigh. I once saw a woman put out her cigarette on a lilac bush. So yes, I can believe that some people ignore nature until it’s convenient for them to notice.

        Liked by 1 person

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