For the first time in many a moon I haven't crossed a single stitch in nearly a week. I shall need retraining at this rate. Anyway - laundry to do, cushions to plump and (as ever) dogs hairs to sweep up. All in all the perfect lead up to a poem. I do promise to get back to serious Long Doggeration very soon. Here's a little snippet to keep you going ..... the shape of things to come perhaps?
THE POINTER (as in arrow Alice, not the breed of dog)
Someone's moved the pointer on that measures out the year.
The arrow's set to autumn now and, look - the mist's appeared.
It sprawls across the valley like some adolescent child
Still slightly round and cuddly, but definately wild.
It doesn't have the qualities of a freshly laundered sheet.
No folds, no starch, no creases and no corners square and neat.
It lies just like a wanton lacking shape and lacking form
And, when you breathe it up your nose it is still slightly warm.
Soon the hand will move again through gales, and sleet, and rain
'Till the arrow comes to rest once more in winter's chill domain.
The nights will be too long then and the days far, far too short.
Make haste, make haste while there's some light to finish work outdoors.
The air will become hostile and will stab into your throat
And trees will stand quite bare once more without their leafy coat.
Trapped moisture left upon the breeze will swiftly freeze as crystals
Which sparkle like a scarf of ice wrapped round the old dead thistle.
And on that cheerful note with the temperature here at a very comfortable 25 degrees C may I be the first to wish you all a merry Christmas. It's on it's way and festive fayre is, as we speak,
ready to be delivered to a supermarket near you very soon. Aaaargh!