healingwords: poetry for the soul

The spring of fresh water bursting out of the hillside at 'La Rompuda' has been a source of drinking water for the nearby village for centuries. During long, dry summers it has been known to slow to a trickle but I can not remember a year where it dried up completely. There are a number of Springs on 'El Carrascal' and people come from miles around to fill their car boots with water. 

I normally notice fennel when it has shot and is tall and leggy with a head of seeds traced against the blue Summer sky. At the moment the fennel is lush and tangled through plants and flowers on the verges and stone walled edges of terraces. I snapped a stalk and tasted sweet, fresh liquorice. 

These brilliant green leaves illuminated with the low afternoon sun brightened the dried fennel stalks lining the terraces. This photograph was taken a day before the Spanish lock down. I wonder after nearly four weeks how the hills and fields are greening, as Spring rains and warmth will be firing growth and painting the landscape.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

There is still a nip in the air but signs of spring are everywhere. New green leaf, trees in blossom, birdsong and the warmth of midday sun as the days grow longer.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

After a week indoors I am ready to feel the warmth of the sun and the light of outdoors. At this time of year I miss the first call of spring with snowdrops and crocuses breaking the ground in Warwickshire. This carpet of daisies on terraces in Spain were enchanting.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Signs of Autumn as wild boar snuffle the earth, eating acorns and burying others to grow as new shiny shoots in Spring. This vibrant green is this year's growth, the ground under the holm oak trees covered with tiny, spiky holly oak trees.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

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...

Whilst coming to terms with my own stormy personality I find solace in the changing moods and seasons of nature. I empathise with the sadness of a cloudy, grey day and feel brightened by the bright, blue light of a Spanish sky. Wind moves me, both agitating and invigorating.  Rain refreshes, nurtures the baked ground and washes away my tears as it cleanses the dusty air.  Whilst we wait for the storms of winter to pass I retain the hope of longer days, flowering blooms, the coming of the light and lightening of mood. All things must pass, as in Seasons, life.  AFTER THE STORM The brooding sky darkens as  hostile clouds shroud the hills, snuffing out summer sun's last dance.  Wrathful winds howl their ire, in mournful seduction as field mice sneak through forgotten cracks seeking shelter in warm kitchens, a quiet refuge to while out the rage. As cleansing rains nurture the parched earth for winter's sleep we weather the storm,  ...