All the boats are gently tugging at their moorings

Saying goodbye to the slowly receding tide

The autumn sun sparkles on the gently rippled river Stour

In an hour or so the boats will all be nestled in a warm embrace of soft mud

All the boats a pointing their bow into the flow

Now is not the time to start a voyage and go

Now is not the time to leave Manningtree for the sea

Catch the first of the next ebb and watch Wrabness and Harwich glide by

For now sit safely in the mud while the crew ashore make merry

Take the first of the next ebb with a safe depth under the keel

Less chance of grounding while the crew’s heads are still pounding

Through busy Harwich harbour and out to sea where freedom is calling

My laptop sits dying on the table.

Its energy ebbing away it says connect your power cable.

I don’t, the screen goes black its vital organs shutting down.

Half an hour ago it was busy sending and receiving information around the world.

It had energy and life its tentacles unfurled.

Now it’s shut down it’s just an object cluttering the table.

When I was a young boy maybe five or six.

My uncle George sowed the corn with a horse drawn drill.

You come along oh me boy he would say and we would walk the field behind his horse.

I only had little legs and when I got tired he would sit me on the cross brace between the shafts.

The horse would flick his tail to keep the flies away and hit me round the face without fail.

I wouldn’t be allowed to sit there now health and safety would have a fit.

If I had fallen of I would have been run over by the drill and chopped into little bits.

I loved my uncle George he told me such tall tales.

A kinder man I would be pleased to meet.

He lived the life of a countryman growing veg hunting rabbits with his dog getting water from a well.

He fed his family from his garden and when we walked across the field I would run him to greet.

He would show me his garden and the rabbits he was breeding I think they all ate well.

His cottage was always cool and a little dark.

His whippet laying on a chaise long slightly odd but true.

A toilet outside no bathroom in the house.

But he always seemed happy.

I need a place to be, somewhere where I can just be me.

A place that is safe, where my thoughts can run free.

A move that opens up new possibilities.

A chance to stretch my mind and achieve a new reality.

Perhaps too long in one place stilts the mind.

The fear of moving on, it’s easier to stay put where you feel safe.

Starting again remaking a social life.

The challenge of something new, the pleasure you may find.

Step out of the mud that glues us to one spot.

Look around for something that at present we haven’t got.

Spring comes and brings with it enthusiasms new.

Out of the windows we now have a greener view.

As the days open out the lifestyle improves.

A change of heart about a possible move.

The light and the warmth draw us into the great outdoors.

Perhaps we were just suffering from a severe bout of cabin fever.

Hello black dog my old friend, I’ve come to walk with you again.

It’s not been long since I journeyed with you, carrying my pain.

I have to say that I have lost my sunny disposition.

I’m now settled into this much less sunny position.

Walking in like a shadow in the night.

Avoiding those that try to catch my gaze.

Knowing that my presence is a blight.

I’ll walk the surface of this earth, until I walk right through this haze.

Self-knowledge isn’t enough to get me through.

I need to spend my time in thought, with conversations soft and low.

More time in reality not chasing life through other media.

Walking, watching, working, sharing, life is not only within the written word.

The wind is roaring, and rain is falling in heavy down pours

In a break in the weather we make a dash to the seaside

The flags and banners still flowing in the wind and rain

The closed cafes and amusement arcades give the seafront a forlorn air

Dog walkers on the prom enjoying the bracing air

The few arcades that open the doors with peeling paint will not receive much financial gain

The flood protection boards are now in place in case of unexpected storms

The whole seafront seems to be in hibernation ignored and neglected until spring brings tourists with pockets full of coins

As an ex resident of a seaside town

I think I prefer the out of season look even if it is slightly run down

The streets are cleaner chip wrappers are gone

Like the chips the town is clothed in yesterday’s news

It’s had its days of glory in the sun

Victorians parading on the pier

Taking the waters in knitted woollen underwear

Like the path of life it’s had its peak and is on the inevitable downward slope

Unlike Harlow and Monroe

It hangs on like Grable and Mae West to glories of the past

Becoming an embarrassing memory of an era that is past

It has a certain charm but is a time that has been done

Life passes by like a train journey.

It starts of really slow you notice everything beyond your window

The fox asleep on someone’s shed roof

The mad underwear hanging on a saggy washing line

The cannabis plants thriving in a most unwell kept garden

Old settees and fridges decomposing in back yards

The backs of houses give way to rolling countryside

Not much chance to see the wildlife now it’s moving too fast

The land and life become a blur all rushes past life is moving fast

As we approach the next station slowing down the blur becomes focused

Once more we see the shady side the backs of unloved houses

Other passengers waiting to step into our journey through time

Another slow start then a speeding blur, journeys end approaches

With the crashing of the buffers everything stops abruptly for young and old

No more clickety clack no more speed induced blurring of the vision

We have all reached the end of the line, that’s the end of that

It’s the 29^th of the first 15 and we have the first snow fall

Does this mean that the world is getting warmer?

Or is this just part of the cyclical pattern?

The British winter has gone from cold to very wet

I haven’t heard an argument that makes sense yet

The predicted Mediterranean climate hasn’t happened yet

No long hot summers and balmy winters

Just long wet winters and mediocre summers

I know it’s very selfish but I would love a Mediterranean climate

I’m fed up with these long wet winters

And the all too brief summers

I want long hot sweaty summers

Short cold winters with snow and frost

I want my childhood back when summer was long

I want winters with snowdrifts and frozen ponds

Roads that are impassable for weeks not hours

I want to be able to use my sledge

It was a 60^th birthday present and I was so pleased

Give me the chance to use it

Too any obscure god I plead

In amongst the coming autumnal shades

The blackberries are gleaming in their purple black glaze

As little kids we went off to pick this autumnal fruit

Not for our mothers jam making ambitions

But for the rare pennies we could earn from the lady down the street

We didn’t have pocket money so these coins were like manna from heaven

We toiled in the heat of the early autumn sun

I’m sure that none of us were older than seven

We walked for miles and by mid-afternoon our little bodies were done

We took our harvest and exchanged it for coopers

Then faced a long walk up the hill to tell mum what we had done

We exaggerated tales of brambles and gorse

Our mothers listened intently and praised us of course

Our parents were impressed by the coppers in our purse

Not so by the blackberry stained urchins telling tales of heroic deeds

A little gang of kids with no fear of paedophiles

Learning valuable life skills

We fought with one another but learned how to forgive

We didn’t bear our grudges we knew we were better as a group

Average age of five and working in unison for our greater good

In amongst the twisted roots live the spirits of the woods

Not hobbits or stupid bloody Russian entities

Just good old English entities that are neither good nor bad

They come out and drink the dog’s water from their bowls

The dogs do not complain because they see what we do not

They know what is true and have no knowledge of Russian rot

Sometimes they stand and stare

We look but do not see what is there

It’s not a rabbit or a hare

They would chaser them without a care

These creatures of the woods they just see but wouldn’t dare

Sometimes they look up to us as if to say can’t you see what’s sitting there

Our brains so full of bits and bytes and megabytes

We have no understanding of the world that surrounds us

To us it’s just a dog that acts weird sometimes

Perhaps we would benefit from connecting to our more primitive brain sometimes