SHOWER

SHOWER

Soft

As

Bridal

Baby’s breath

Autumn’s watering

Purple pansies pause in wonder

Lifting lilting heads to drizzle honeyed raindrops into vibrant velvet verdant stems

Passionately move in rhythm

With petals glistening

Like jewels

Hidden

In

Stone

Virginia Gow

31/03/13

DOWNPOUR

DOWNPOUR

Bright

Slim

Lilies

Lighten up

A garden pathway

Where salacious snails munch basil

For early breakfast a hearty healthy herbal treat

Somber charcoal clouds dancing high upon mountaintop bring sweet promise of steady rain

Brittle little black ants skittle amongst leaf litter

Inviting evacuation

Clashing timpani

Embracing

Earth’s

Vein

Virginia Gow

04/03/13

WHITE POPPIES

       

WHITE POPPIES

she

knows

silence

watching  leaves

fall gracefully down

crumbling on the old stone path

finding something like intrinsic beauty in their decay

remembering summery embraces as dancing poppies scent the twilight breezes

patiently listening for the last white crumpled petal to fade and fall as all around wait and anticipate the next regeneration

           

                                                       Virginia Gow

        March 2013

POPPIES

POPPIES

She

Knows

Silence

Watching  leaves

Fall gracefully down

Crumbling on the old stone path

Finding something like intrinsic beauty in their decay

Remembering summery embraces as dancing poppies scent the twilight breezes

Patiently listening for the last white crumpled petal

To fade and fall as all around

Anticipate a

Regener

a

tion

Virginia Gow

                          21/03/13

ROSE

ROSE

In

soft

garden

gently grows

a fragrant yellow

climbing rose keeping company

with daffy dandelions and lusty little lizards

solid dry stone wall keeps safe this majestic flower perfect in her thorny bower

whispering  perfumeries to autumn’s brisk breezes

slowly discards each silk petal

to nestle softly

in the ground

decays

fades

gone

Memory of a fragile essence lingers still.

Virginia Gow

28/03/13

PARADISE

PARADISE                                                                                     Virginia Gow            07/03/13

It is just a glance at a photo in a magazine, that’s all it takes for a memory to be born.

Ginny has been spending time in Bangkok at the Thai House Cooking School, sitting on cement, grinding green paste, yellow paste and red paste that will transform dishes into authentic Thai cuisine. Chopping up vegetables, and learning to cut carrots into flowers and immersing herself in local Thai culture, she feels that it is now time for a rest.

It is not on her list of places to go, but a singular vision from a magazine in a dentist’s room floods her mind. Her imagination calls her to seek out the limestone islands that lie in the Andaman Sea, off the west coast of Thailand. To see the unique beauty of the Phi Phi islands and capture something of their essence in paint is a worthwhile quest.

Travelling by longboat through crystal waters, she arrives at a white sandy beach surrounded by verdant jungle palms.  Locating a teak bungalow high on a hill she moves into heaven. Her gaze slips over the deck to where this alluring sea lies, like ultramarine silk, outside her door. So serene, so soft, so deadly is this water.

Last night at dinner her host told her of the tsunami that swept over his beloved island one year ago and had taken over four thousand lives. He spent three nights in the mountains watching the sea swirl and recede, leaving havoc in its wake. The islands have been off limits to people whilst all damage removed. Her host smiles and welcomes her as one of the first tourists allowed back to his piece of paradise.

 ‘Beauty has a price and so it goes with paradise, one person’s heaven can be a hell and hell can be a heaven. It’s all a question of balance’, he explains. ‘Gaze at this vista and remember to respect its terrifying beauty.’

IONA

IONA                                                                                                Virginia Gow 28/02/13

Who dares to ride this crossing in such foul weather? A lone muffled figure scans the horizon from the pitching deck. Some inner warmth is needed for the Professor as he grips the ferry’s rails. A nip of whisky will warm him.  Lurching across the deck to the seat that straddles the wall, he pulls a flask of single malt from his leather briefcase. As he slowly sips his eyes study the contents of his briefcase and he realizes that something is missing.

Off the western coast of Scotland lies the Isle of Iona.  Famed as the resting place of many kings, it is a hermit’s joy and a Queen’s sorrow. It’s a wee tiny place three miles by one.  What power holds sway over its salty air as it appears to idle in the wind? Mists whisper, ‘The veils of time are thin on Iona as they weave and wander through the awesome light.’ Why does this island draw traveler and scholar from everywhere to its shores? To walk on its hallowed, timeless earth catch a ferry from Oban, traverse Mull, and then another short but rocky ferry ride across the straits to Iona. Around two thousand years ago a few Druids hid on this island to escape Rome’s despairing eyes. They painted blue woad, made from mustard leaves, upon their faces and danced a magic ring upon the earth to sing up the land. Saint Columba and his band of twelve monks rowed from Ireland to Scotland and established the monastic tradition on this island in the Early Middle Ages.

It is high summer morning and a mighty gale blows around the ferry and the storm whips wild waves over the bow. This is a true Scottish tempest straight from a Shakespearean drama. Iona is the final resting place for the real King Macbeth. Travelling here to read tombstones, this renowned scholar hopes to locate the lost crypt of a hidden library. He believes that the crypt holds texts from ancient Greece and Persia, scrolls of Druidic recipes and reference material used by the monks to write the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells is an illuminated manuscript of Gospels in Latin displayed in Trinity College, Dublin and is regarded as a national treasure of Ireland. It has long been rumoured that a chamber of secrets lay beneath the ancient seat of the Stone of Destiny. Records tell that this Stone rested here before it was taken to Edinburgh Castle for the crowning of the Kings of Scotland.

There are many legends about the stone.  The origin of the stone is unknown. Geologists think it came from near Scone but folklore has it that it was brought from Tara in Ireland. Tara is a hill where Irish kings made vows and bards made music sweet upon its famous harp. Some claim the stone was made in Biblical times and brought from the Middle East to Tara in BCE (Before Common Era). Stolen by England and taken to London, England and Scotland fought over the stone for centuries. The Stone of Destiny now resides in Edinburgh Castle, returned by the English to its rightful place.

To balance historicism, he seeks the treasure of knowledge to be found in ancient books. Inside a stone hospital, carved into tombstones there are patterns in code that will unlock the path to the crypt.  He has left his decoder at home, but hopes that his memory is adequate and his quest be fulfilling.