A slow day today. It been a slow week. The crushing winter weather seems to have ground Britain to a halt.
I had aimed to make videos but I'm finding it difficult. In the end I limbered up the parts of my brain that know about video formats and editing. I spent most of the afternoon working on the concept for a new painting, the one for the Macclesfield competition. I have an idea now, I think, but it can wait because I've got four months to go.
I'm finding it hard to focus. At times like this I think of the drops. Each day is a drop that will eventually fill a bucket. I don't have to fill a bucket each day, one drop in the right direction is enough.
In poetry I'm writing Spenserian Stanzas. I like this form, since discovering it less than a week ago! Yesterday's poem was for a cheerful sunny painting called The Lark Ascending. Here it is (Oh, I know the last line is not an Alexandrine; I bent the rules).
The Lark Ascending
The ochre rays dance lightly in the spring
like golden strings on instruments of sun,
and high, so high the lark in spiral sings
in beauty blue, an azure river's run.
A misted moon looks on, its mourning done,
its requiem for frozen diamond night.
The butterflies of summer flick and come
in licks and turns, in sprays of ochre light.
A symphony of colour for the day's ascending flight.
