Who says things aren’t speeding up? In my garden, hawthorn berries red as can be by the end of July. On Peckham Rye, I noticed fallen conkers before August was out. One day I stooped to (pick up a) conker.
This effulgence of flowers is at the bottom of my road in Peckham Rye. They are growing in an area which was once, years ago, a paddling pool for toddlers. Today it may be 30 degrees outside and the pool would be a joy for small people. But the sight of a host of wildflowers being courted by bees and butterflies is, surely, a joy for everyone. Big and small.
What happens when Mary crosses Peckham Rye? My short story is published in http://stepawaymagazine.com/ It’s an international literary e-zine devoted to flânerie for the 21st Century, and the spring 2014 issue is launched today. Let your fingers do the walking and click on.
I was sitting at the cafe on Peckham Rye enjoying a cup of coffee when, out of the blue, this poem arrived: a response to the joys of spring. (Why the text appears in double-spacing is something the computer has decreed. But one must rise above these bloody irritations.)
when daffodils jostle with
bluebells, and blossom
fringes boughs and bushes,
and squirrels chase their tails
while birds warble, and dogs
ignore their whistling masters,
and leaves unfurl like
badly-kept secrets, then
spring my love has sprung