Hunter’s Moon

 

In the distance what can the father and son hear?

They hope it is the grunt or snort of a deer.

Without the last of the season’s hunt, there will be no food.

For the boy’s siblings, and the rest of the man’s hungry brood.

 

The vegetation is now laid bare.

Through the darkness the two can with little hindrance stare.

 

The passing clouds  cause the night shadows to deceive.

The snap of a twig, the hoot of an owl, the eager hunters could easily misconceive.

The moon rises high.

The clouds disperse from the sky.

 

The prize of the night, is now visible and in their sight.

Thankfully this winter, the family's table can be laid with both bowl and spoon.

Thanks to nature and the Hunter’s moon.

 

 By Christina Rowell

 

 

Pictures of exhibits in National Museum Edinburgh, photographed by Christina Rowell

Prickly Heat

 

    The weather here in Tenerife has been on the hot side the last few weeks, today for example nearer forty than thirty degrees Celsius. Trying to keep the plants on my terrace alive has been near impossible as the heat has been relentless.

    It’s not a huge area by any manner of means, but it is nice to surround yourself with a little greenery. So, the other day we traveled 7 kilometers to our nearest garden center.

    To be honest the center itself isn’t so different from the ones there are in the UK. Lots of accessories for around the home as you enter. Including rugs, throws, mirrors and terrace furniture. Not forgetting seasonal items, Halloween and Christmas are the stars of the show at present.

    Leaving the homeware behind you enter a vast area filled with all kinds of plant life. The air is humid and very warm, some of the plants and trees have shade others just love to soak up the sun.

    After walking around for a good hour or so, I still didn’t make my mind up. However, I have decided that cacti and other succulent plants are best for my outside space. 

    Until we head back to the garden center I’ll just have to make do with the local park and other beautiful areas that are in my community.

   

Hope In The Heart

 

 

 They cram together sometimes one hundred or more,

In search of another shore.

They have said their farewells,

And risk the ocean’s perilous  swells.

A mixture of races including African and Asian,

Longing for a safe haven.

Seeking shelter from dangers and distress,

With a heartfelt hope of protection and even success.

Little Treasures

 

 

    Here in the Canary Islands, potatoes play a huge part of the everyday diet. Due to high tourism and local love for these little treasures, the island’s locally produced supply can’t keep up with the demand. 

     Therefore, 80-90% of this versatile vegetable, the King Edward variety to be exact, is supplied from Kent, England. Unfortunately, imports have had to be suspended because of a plague of the Colorado beetle having been found recently. 

     Meaning, that to a nation of spud lovers there is now a shortage, caused by a potato rush. Of course, these greedy profiteers have been buying in bulk, which has now led to supermarkets and wholesalers limiting purchases.

     Hopefully, new trade deals will be made and new imports will begin soon, but this quote from Louisa May Alcott says it all, ‘Money is the root of all evil, and yet it is such a useful root that we cannot get on without it any more than we can without potatoes.’

 

 

 

    

A Queen's Poetic Retreat

    

   July 24th 1567, following a year of imprisonment in Loch Leven Castle in Perth and Kinross, Mary Queen of Scots was forced to abdicate. 

    Her time as queen was tumultuous, and she escaped from the reality and skullduggery that surrounded her by writing poetry.

     Today I've included a short sonnet of hers, believed to have been written about the Earl of Bothwell to whom she later married. A marriage that would throw her life into further turmoil.  

    Please enjoy and thanks for visiting my blog today.  

Lord, grant your mercy unto me:

Teach me some way that he may know

My love for him is not an empty show

But purest tenderness an constancy

For does he not, alas, ev'n now possess

This body and this heart which would not flee

Discord, dishonour, nor uncertainty,

Nor family hurt, nor evil's worst distress.

For his sake, I value all my friends as dust

And in my enemies I seek to place my trust,

For him, my concience and good name to chance I've cast;

I would renounce the worls, were it his whim:

I'd gladly die if it should profit him,

What more is there to prove my love steadfast.

Mary Queen of Scots (8 December 1542-8 Feburary 1587)