Tuesday, 13 January 2009



Just a short one this week. A great and memorable weekend with a genius bunch of brigands up on the moor. Frosty nights, wild dancing, deep myth and the place where the psyche, the stories and the nature powers start to rub up against each other.
Steaming Lightning Horses with sexy tails rushed through our camp quoting Lorca before turning, suddenly, into ancient gateposts and shy smiles.You had to see it.
Anyone feeling a little unusual or in the thrall of strange dreams or oddly tired, worry not, it won't last long-it's the Soul breaking its oceanic stillness to send a wave to the cawing of the buzzard we saw overhead-if one is caught in the middle that can feel a little wyrd in the old sense of the word.
Off to teach in Switzerland and France, flapping the myth-wings; i'll have something more coherent to mutter next week. Actually, i do have news. Re: Lagavulin. The £20 dram Finlaggen is actually secret Lagavulin without an age on the bottle. Not as subtle; rougher,but £20 cheaper.Shhh...

Now that i love you, winter
has become an elegant man
sipping latte. he has the eyes
of a robin and with him we
float from springtime to springtime.

let them talk foolishly
of the greenhouse effect.
When there is a love like ours in the world
the tropics move closer.

King of the Love Poets, Fran Quinn.

1 comment:

Nancy said...

Oh now! I don't even like latte but after reading this and looking forward to old man winter with springtime eyes, I must have one now.


Nancy Moore