Now, in the Autumn of our years
We wait to see what Winter brings
While russet beauty calms our fears
Chill Winter hints of sufferings.
We’ve savoured all the joys of youth
Forged paths through lifetime’s verdant Spring
The love and laughter constant proof
Summer is time for blossoming.
Now Autumn sees us slow – and taste
The harvest of our earlier years,
Determined that we should not waste
The lessons learned from hopes and fears.
But all the wisdom garnered then
Cannot protect from Winter’s cold.
There’s no escape the fate of men
To live the seasons, and grow old.
I haven’t been blogging much as I have a script to write for a recording. The essential thing is to get the timing right. I have been given three pages of text but I need to turn that into an interview so that the listeners do not have to listen to a monologue.
Then I have to time it and leave spaces for one or two songs and a few poems. This is the fourth magazine I have produced for the Voice of Progress, a newsletter for the blind and it gets harder each time.
This is probably the most fulfilling thing I do in my retirement. Writing is fine but readers can get the same pleasure from many other sources. There aren’t as many avenues of entertainment for the less able. I hope they like it when it’s finished.
There was I , trying, unsuccessfully,to get a photo of the magpies pulling twigs off the silver birch tree to make nests ( through the kitchen window) when Hubby brought in the paper.
To my surprise and delight they had printed a letter I sent. Now to sit back and see if there are any repercussions.I was sticking up for Worthing which has been in the press recently due to the average age of the population.What people don’t seem to recognise is that folk here live longer because it is suited to a relaxed and yet sociable lifestyle.
There’s no doubt that one of the advantages is the creative atmosphere. I would never have imagined I could write six novels in ten years until we moved here.
I have also dug out some poems,mostly about birds, colours and getting fit – ready for my next recording for the Voice of Progress.
Have you ever written a short story and then wondered what to do with it? I used to send to Scribble and I had a look at AlfieDog but I suppose I ought to try for another competition. The trouble is, I am reluctant to pay for any more entries until I am,at least,shortlisted
I never thought I would lack ideas but it is happening now. If I get a thought it only comes as a poem and this is still not the ideal place to post those. I expect I could change the spacing but I’m a coward and don’t dare try.
The only thing I have written this week is a ‘letter to the editor’ but I do have planning to do for the next recording for the blind. Sorry to miss the London Book Fair but the trains are so unreliable this year I’m giving it a miss.
Belonging to two very different writing groups I found I had meetings at both this week. At Worthy Words I read a piece about anniversaries as our homework was to write something to fit a special date. I don’t usually write non fiction so it was only a few hundred words.
Then at Sea Scribes, we were discussing events to attend this year and then read samples of what we had been writing. I have been trying to write for competitions but I knew my ‘twist in a tale’ needed work and the others made very helpful suggestions.
Then hubby and I went out to dinner and to listen to The Featherstone Jazzmen. This time they had Peter Godfrey on piano and , as usual, it was a great evening.
I saw on Twitter that SLUK had their first birthday this week. For anyone into scooters and looking on line ScooterLab.UK is a fantastic resource.Is this the future of journalism?
Green fronds a curtain in the sky
Your branches stretched towards the light
So thick the birds all shelter there
And to the hanging feeders fly.
But ragged needles grow too high
Lawn struggles in your generous shade
Not trees, but hedge, was our demand
( Although the birds will wonder why)
Arboreal surgeons do their best
To slice and prune and chop the trees
And leave a flat-topped hedge instead
But still enough for birds to nest
Or, seeking sanctuary, they hide
And wait for suet, seeds and nuts
That hang from branches lower down
While we look on with grateful pride.