Thursday 18 July 2013

Warm Wood




First run in about three weeks yesterday evening.
My back had been suffering shrill spasms as the stomach muscles screamed at the core muscles to carry their fair share of the burden. They screamed back.
Pine smell sharp in the nostrils. A consolidated and permanent warmth. Like consolation before a trial; it being so unfamiliar... 
Only scant sign of slugs.
No fatness on them.
Also a settled, interior warmth; I`d helped make good things happen at work this week.

I thought of Joanne Newsom`s soft caterwauling lyrics, saying the scene for me:

Peonies nod in the breeze,
and as they wetly bow
with hydrocephalitic listlessness,
ants mop up their brow.

And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour;
butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.