Friday, 18 November 2016

The stream in spate: a poetry post




October was glorious up here on the West Coast of Scotland. A month of pretty good weather, and fantastic colour. Halloween was warm enough to not wear coats, which was brilliant.

But now we're in November. The grey month when the cold and the dark come. And it has come. We had our first frost on the 1st, our new tree (a Katsura which has come up from Yorkshire) lost its leaves in horror at its new climate, although I'm hoping this is an Autumn thing. 

The colours on the trees are fading to muddy brown and black, and the wind, the rain, and the hail, are becoming more frequent visitors.

At home I'm attempting to get my hygge on to see through the winter. I've gone right off gin and tonic, and need something more wintery to sip while I snuggle under a crocheted blanket and watch the Westworld (does anyone else sing this every time it's on?). Any suggestions?

Anyway, in order to keep my little mind sunny during these dark days I've taken up two new habits:

  1. Morning Pages - the brilliant idea from Julia Cameron to write three pages longhand in the morning (I never manage to do it first thing. Whenever I try a child climbs me!) to help declutter your mind. This has been brilliant for me, helping me to work out good things to do, and realise what can be dropped too. Love it. It does take a little time every morning, but I'm getting so much done the rest of the day because of it.
  2. I'm walking for at least half an hour every day. This used to be built into my life, but now that school and the town centre are furhter away (our house is lovely, but I'd move it closer in if I could) I end up in the car lots, and that plus writing lots makes me a very dull girl, so I'm getting out there every day. In between showers if at all possible!
It was during one of these walks that I got fascinated with the stream that runs through the middle of Largs - the GoGo Burn. It's usually pretty, wide, and shallow, but recently, with all the water it's been carrying, it has grown wider still, and deeper, with brown water tumbling white over the stones which normally stand proud.

I thought I'd try a poem about it.

It's called 


The Stream in Spate

After the wind and the lashing rain,
after the hail hits the windowpane,
after the leaves are torn away,
then comes the stream in spate.
Rich with the colour of moorland peat,
bursting its banks and wetting our feet,
tumbling down, the sea for to meet,
there goes the stream in spate.
Covering up the stepping stones,
spurned by the birds with their brittle bones,
whisking away the traffic cones,
this is the stream in spate.

© Cara L McKee 18/11/16



Prose for Thought