A POEM A DAY - EASTER





Easter is a busy time in my village as houses fill with people coming back to their family homes. The church is full on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and at Midnight Mass and Sunday morning Resurrection Mass. The band accompanies the village on the Good Friday solemn procession and again at dawn on Sunday morning with the staging of the 'Encuentro'. I have been involved in the 'Encuentro since my eldest daughter first played in the band and more so since we moved to our home in the centre of the village. The band assembles before first light, youngsters bleary eyed from nights without sleep at their Easter camps. The streets are silent as a column of men process with the statue of a prone Jesus passing my house, whilst the village women walk behind the statue of Mary cloaked in mourning black. The two meet as the sun rises in the bakers street where a young 'Festera', her hair dressed with a black mantilla, removes the cloak to reveal Mary in her golden glory, in celebration of her son's resurrection. The band play and pigeons are released to fly around the street. 

This year there was no 'Encuentro', the village is empty and quiet with everyone in their homes. There will be no family celebrations, no paellas,  kite flying, children running around the football ground eating their sweet bread ' monas' like every other year. We will all be in touch with the miracle of modern communications and we will share in our family love and village community with messages and photographs. We are reminded of better times by the delicious smell of baking monas from the nearby village bakery and our own home cooked attempts. Hot cross buns remind me of my mother and our shared love of  spicy hot cross buns and toasted tea cakes. She is in my thoughts today, as are all my family and friends across the world. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

DREAMING BLUE

Image
I am heartened by the number of people sharing their beautiful photographs of bluebell woods and spreading the love of nature. As I am 1,400 miles away from my favourite woods I can only enjoy these glimpses of their beauty and dream of bluebells.  DREAMING BLUE I dream of bluebells; released in sleep from restraint of time and place, I wander free, my copse a composite of woodlands flashed before me, snapped and ether shared, bluebells to be sure the robin of flowers, secure in the awe of all who walk the swaying seas, dazzled by their beauty, a cloak of violet blue spread under trees shading green, blue like the deepening sky as the sun’s embers sliver gold, light gilding the horizon.    © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  
Read more

ANAM CARA, in praise of friendship

Image
 I wrote this poem with love and thanks, in celebration of friendship.  ANAM CARA Blessed I am to have shared my life with others. Friends who crossed my path when most needed. Some to stay for all time, quietly there, in my heart, others dipping in and out as years move our lives together and apart, gone when others’ needs were greater. Blessed I am to have friends who know me better than I know myself. Soul friends, teachers, wise ones, healers, forgiving, giving, sharing their best with me, finding the best in me, uplifting my spirit when darkness surrounds. Blessed I am to share friends ’ lives, the circle expanding as our children grow in harmony. Walking in cool woods, by flowing rivers, discovering new places, laughing round a table of food cooked with love, lying together under the stars. © 2018 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  
Read more

MISSING BLUEBELLS

Image
An additional consequence to the loss of my parents has been the end of my regular visits to England. I am torn between missing my cool, green North country and the warmth of my friends and the inevitable sadness of returning with no family home and parents to welcome me. As so often my mind returns to the garden, where nature and love combined to make a treasured space. In this poem I can now look back with pleasure and less sadness.  I hope next Spring I will return, the garden is gone but the woods and the bluebells await. MISSING BLUEBELLS I have missed the bluebells, the spring renewal of sky painting, brushing the warming earth, shaking sleep from Oak woods. Unable to return, still afraid to face the step into a country where roots are now cut, where another walks the garden. Sweeping fallen oak leaves, bare branches greening, wood pigeons cooing from twigged woven nests. Surprised by waking flowers, nooks of shy snowdrops, spiked ...
Read more

Freedom Kit Bags, HELPING WOMEN IN NEPAL

Image
Freedom Kit Bags is a charity providing sanitary wear to women in rural villages and poor communities in Nepal who do not have access to even the most basic provision. We take for granted the pack of pads or tampons thrown in the shopping trolley while these women make do with rags or even grass. In some cases, women are even forced to leave their homes to stay in out buildings whilst they menstruate. Freedom Kit Bags provide all women need to hygienically manage their period, giving women and girls back their dignity and freedom. They also run a public health education programme to help change the prejudicial attitudes to menstruation. For only 25 pounds Freedom Kit Bags can give this gift to a Nepali woman. Sanitary protection has changed unrecognisably in my lifetime, we are fortunate now to have a whole range of choices including sustainable, reusable pads. I think all women can imagine how much worse our lives would be if we had to feel shame and suffer ostracisation ...
Read more

LOVE IN THE AIR

Image
This poem and photograph are inspired by the wedding of my eldest daughter this week in our Valencian village, at the foot of the 'El Carrascal' mountain.  It was a magical, beautiful celebration bringing together the best of Spanish and Northern traditions (jamon and wine, tea and cake topped off with Irish music), uplifted by the love of family and friends.  LOVE IN THE AIR Under El Carrascal’s gaze sunlight dripped gold through silvered olive leaves, gilding blooms in wicker, greening tumbling ivy, casting dancing garlands on crisp blades of woven grass. Gnarled boughs embracing, bear witness to love’s union, groom serene, bride radiant, red curls crowned with flowers, gauze brushed with gold dust as puffs of white fairy fluff float skywards on May breeze. © 2018 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  
Read more

TREE HEALING

Image
Last winter I spent some weeks in Coventry emptying and selling our family home. This was a difficult time, saying goodbye not only to my parents but to my childhood and my link to England. This house remained my home, it was where we all returned to, where my own children and even my tiny grandchild stayed and visited, a special place for us all. Being at the house without my father, sorting through my parents belongings, knowing I would soon not be able to return, already missing the garden, I was overwhelmed with sadness.     This poem recalls the day I tried and failed to be cheerful, leaving my friends after helping to decorate the party room, knowing I was still set apart from normal life. Without thinking I stopped at the woods, alone in the dusk and after time with the trees and the silence, felt some sadness lift and float away into the night sky. I returned home lighter, with oak leaves in my pocket.   Grief is a process, there are days when I am still hit h...
Read more

SPRING GARDEN

Image
This poem celebrates my father’s birthday and the coming of Spring in the garden of my old family home. The garden saw many lives, a children’s playground, a mini allotment bringing vegetables and fruits to the table, a cottage garden with flowers, fishponds and dove cote, a mature garden loved by my parents who planted trees, grasses, shrubs and flowers to make a home for birds and wildlife. As they became elderly and less able the garden evolved once more, growing wild, a riotous overgrown jumble as nature took over, a space of wooded beauty in the middle of the city. I loved the garden, for its spirit and my memories and now my parents and the house are gone it lives on as part of me. It seems apt that the greening of Spring coincides with the day my father came into this world. SPRING GARDEN A year since I walked the cobbled path, winding from house to garden’s end, felt Winter loosening ice chains in season’s yearly dance. The great Oak bestrides the gar...
Read more

AFTER THE RAIN

Image
This is the view from the El Carrascal hillside, looking over the valley towards the Mediterranean Sea. The sun warmed the damp earth after the nights cleansing rains. The air smelt of pine and vibrated with birdsong.  AFTER THE RAIN   In Southern country, where arid desert creeps, rains fall brings shock of raging storm violence. Woken by light strobing hills, thunder’s drum crashing, rolling round 'Pop' valley like Fiesta’s fireworks flare. Rain comes, sudden, urgent drumming, drilling on tiles bouncing off terracotta, storming from gutter to street. Rush to batten down old shutters, pitch pine split from harsh sun, wind thrashing, driving lashing rain, spilling onto cold floors. Wired night of fitful sleep, broken in anxious unease, drifting between squalls until dawn breaks through breathing cloud. New day, blessed with warming light, tarmac sparkles on washed streets, refreshed earth drinks in liquid life, ...
Read more

PETRACOS, CAVE PAINTINGS

Image
This poem was inspired by a recent trip to Petracos, a few miles from my home. A short climb from the valley brings you to a walk way from which you can see the cave paintings, explained on panels as part of the restoration of the area by the MARQ, archeological museum of Alicante. The paintings are an outstanding example of macro schematic art dating back 8,000 years and it is inspiring to find them in such a quiet and natural setting. Apart from the safety rails and explanatory panels the landscape feels like it has changed little since an unknown hand painted the rock walls and took shelter in the Sanctuary Cave.  Thanks to Lesley for sharing the walk and her photographs. PETRACOS Treading the stone path head bent against blinding sun, shaded rest under leafy boughs, chasing the sun creeping from valley to Sanctuary, stopping to gaze upwards at rock canvas, eyes slowly perceiving shapes, patterns, figures sprouting in burnt red from mustard grey. ...
Read more

The Path through the Woods

Image
This is a short poem to send my birthday best wishes to Carmel, who lifts our spirits everyday with her beautiful facebook page, The Path through the Woods. We all need nature in our lives, the photographs and messages Carmel posts daily bring the beauty of the natural world to all those who are not fortunate to have immediate access and remind us to find time to recharge and heal in nature. Thank you for your time and generosity.  WITH THANKS On the day of her birth, we who have been touched by her generosity of spirit, we who daily walk the Path through the Woods, guided by her hand, give thanks and wish her happiness and serenity, at peace with the whispering of the leaves, sustained by the light shining through the trees. 
Read more