Bloomsday
16/07/10 23:56
Huge gusts wrestling branches,
leaves ripped. Bumble bees hide out the storm in
the thick of the bay tree. As the pressure
drops, water overflows the moors. Puddles become
pools, then small lakes as the drains bulge. The
sound of a twig caught in the wheel is a large
bolt for holding corrugated iron, and shreds the
tyre. Then it’s over. The first sight of the new
moon: in the back garden I take photos handheld
through lovage and bay, later in my studio
upstairs through the open window across to the
horse chestnut trees in Beaumont Park.
Get on!