The year turning round

cascade   

Yesterday’s storm sent me darting outside to check that the roof was draining properly with no blocked gutters. At the back of the house I found a cascade where the downpipe and gutters were full to capacity and more; thankfully it did not last long, and the weather turned around; today as Dylan wrote

 the blue altered sky
        Stream(s) again a wonder of summer.

Yes, the year is turning round: these are the last strawberries, said the greengrocer at the Goods Shed, and so, remembering next week’s Harvest Festival, I came home to harvest the more presentable grapes that have not gone to feed the starlings and blackbirds.

I was reminded, in this month of the centenary of his birth, of Dylan’s Poem in Autumn, sharing with us his walk through the little town, the weather turning, his mind and heart turning to celebration and prayer, out on the hill.

Let us be grateful for the last strawberries, for the grapes and all the harvest and for the birds who bring us pleasure even as we pretend to be cross with their depredations. We’ll be feeding them through the winter!



And there could I marvel my birthday
     Away but the weather turned around. And the true
        Joy of the long dead child sang burning
                In the sun.
             It was my thirtieth
        Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
        Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
             O may my heart's truth
                Still be sung
        On this high hill in a year's turning.
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