A Poem and a Painting

Walk with me.

Down to the river, in the quiet time.
When all have gone home
and the river witch turns the ripples to gold.
We can sit for a while and hear the sleepy foxes stir.
And as the owls tuck the messages of the night beneath their soft white wings,
we can watch and wonder where the golden path leads

Sit with me beneath the apple blossom.
The drowsy bees will enchant us with their humming song
and we will be drunk on the scent of April days.

Run with me over the summer lands,
past golden kings in their reedy river castles.
Up the old hill, to stir the one that has slumbered too long beneath.
Do you see his white horse waiting in the shadows?
Can you see the glint of silver sword by the light of the moon?

Lie with me upon this old earth.
Beneath us, all that has passed will pass to us.
With the songs of old Wessex in our bones, our souls shall dance in the ghosts of flower meadows
and with all those who loved this land.

Dream with me.
Of a world where beauty in a single raindrop and a dandelion mesmerises all.
And where the golden leaves of a thousand forests are more precious than any gold jangling in our silk or threadbare pockets.
 ~Karen Davis 2019

A poem I wrote last year and a painting titled 'The Starlit Wessex Path' I did earlier this year, just before lockdown.

The Earth Sings in the Language of Light

September has come and almost passed. The best of the blackberries are gone and the holly berries are just about to ripen. They are late this year.  It's been a busy month and I don't really have much to say. In the quiet time, late when the candle is lit though I find words visit. The ones below came to me at such a time and I have used the first line on a notebook.  

The Earth sings in the language of light,
A hum of bee in soft sunlight

Golden shafts through forest glade,

Winter glint excalibur blade, 

Rainbow arch over rain soaked hills,

Liquid light on windowsills

Ballads of the heavenly rays,

Melodies of summer days

Starlight voice like bells are pealing,

For gentle songs of moonlight healing

                                                           ~Karen Davis 2019

                                       

This post is mainly a round up, sharing what's new in the shops. As I said in August's post the originals will all go on the web shop now and not Etsy. 

New Autumn and Winter cards, using previous paintings.

Yes, it's here! The 2020 calendar has arrived! 

And three Autumn hares which are heading over to the web shop shortly.

There are also postcards featuring these for those of you that miss out on the originals. 

Here's to a perfectly magical October!

Still Sand In My Pockets

Sea Fever

I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. 


John Masefield 

I am home, but there is still sand in my pockets.

Crystal clear sparkling rockpools, bone white shells, sea glass, seaweed tresses of mermaid hair, tiny fairy fishes, selkies, seals, castles Kings,wizards, turquoise and Tintagel have been let into my wooden house of dreams. They have joined the dance inside of moonstone, hares, velvet winter coats, hearts,words,spirals and midnight cats. Seashells decorate the houses garden now and salty waves lap gently into the mossy moat. The little passages of my minds house are never ending with wonderings and wanderings.  Right now I can see a small window and moonlight shines through its leaded diamond panes. A door is ajar and whispers of words are escaping and creeping into the smallest places. They hide in matchboxes, jam jars, teacups, mirrors and the shadows and sparkles behind a curtain.

A door has opened and words have returned.

 

                                 

Happy September everyone!