the virtual shift

on the suggestion of a dear writer friend I have moved - from freeblogit over to her garden where I'm hoping, more souls come seeking herbs and flowers and the way words move, wince, jar, express. as i walked out, except of course here I am sitting, hen watching, dry stone dyke watching, grass growing noting, sky change seeing. June has brushed the warmth away. On this wild far northern tip the nights and mornings are light light light. Wild flowers ambush the braes and we have the rare oysterplant doing its beautiful thing, all pink and violet flowery, on the beach. There are a pair of hard working oyster catchers who work the seaweed beds. A pair of fulmars have taken up perch on stones in the river. The wild work hard. These hens, for all the grains I chuck at them, still scour the garden constantly in search of worms. If the cockerel comes upon some morsel does he gobble it down all for himself? Not a whit - he nods his handsome red and white head, gabbles a bit and indicates for his girls to get on over. He looks after them see. And when dusk falls he gathers the girls up and makes sure they're all in for the night. I have not had a television for thirty years so watching hens is still good viewing.
greetings from the north, from sea and Highland river, primrose and nights opening out like an accordion. xx