My Lady of the Lawn…


For Ed and Sandra, whose beautiful garden we are privileged to care take…


Cold Grecian grace, gracefully illumines

imposing, oppressive and towering Leylandii.

Distant  empty sockets, stare and survey

the overgrown, rampant and rebellious Victorian garden,

hidden behind the tall, thick stone wall

that the Copper Beech sweeps with it’s weeping branches.

Those so-called halcyon days faded and forgotten now



Mother Nature is Mistress.

With her strong evergreen limbs she silently reclaims to Herself

those  man-made artifacts that have infiltrated Her sacred spaces.

Within this wild and often brutal battle for space and survival,

I must regretfully inform you that your rule has of late…


My Lady of the Lawn.


You see…

…there is a secret garden in the heart of town,

concealed and mysterious, it speaks of past lives and pastimes

yet reluctantly now it is unearthing it’s treasures from days gone by.

On humble knees I come before thee, My Lady,

clearing and weeding a pathway to your callous, cold hearted beauty,

as you  haughtily stare down upon my insignificant form.

But with the Seasons I have begun to tame this unruliness,

distant treasures no longer under the Mother’s mesmerizing gaze.

As I toil and dig and pull and prune,

antique rope edging, troughs and cherubs come to light

and the old, worn, antique wheelbarrow, long forgotten,

watches with amusement and chuckling amazement!

A New Order, a New Age is transforming the Victorian garden.

My Lady of the Lawn.


From a vantage point on the edge of a once perfectly manicured lawn,

the now ramshackle barrow has seen many a story unfold and performed:

of tragedy and ecstasy, of despair and hopefulness, of melancholy and joy.

Crinoline skirts elegantly stroking the lawn as their mistresses play croquet,

tapping the ball through strategic hoops, under the watchful eye and

shadow of the neighbouring church spire and their men-folk,

dapperly-dressed and lazily lounging in the warm afternoon sunshine,

watching maids bringing out trays of afternoon tea, served on the best china.

Out of sight and earshot, within the confines of thick stone walls and wooden doors,

voices are raised, tempers are frayed, masks worn for the outside world removed

and raw human emotion comes spilling out, unrestrained in all it’s glory.

This species called “Man” fumbling and bumbling with the “Meaning of Life”,

while all the while the bumble bees lovingly caress the Hypericum

growing in splendid abundance around your finely chiselled shoulders,

My Lady of the Lawn.


And what now My Lady of the Lawn I ask myself…

Cracks and pockmarks now embellish your face, once unblemished and youthful.

I see the sign of a smirk forming in the corners of those supercilious lips

but that will soon vanish and return from whence it came when I break the news…

that it is now your turn for a “Facelift”…

My Lady of the Lawn.












The Cake.




The cake said it all.

All eyes on the cake,



Gravitational masterpiece and

confusion of confectionery,

soft berry bedlam and

mouth-watering mayhem.

Luscious and delicious fruit riot,

tantalizing taste buds and

vision gratified,

a rampart studded with

round glinting promises.

The cake,



Hushed tones and lights dimmed,

mouths gaping, jaws dropping,

no sprinkles or sparkles adorning



this Patisserie Valerie creation,

this pièce de résistance,

this prime mover of prima donnas.

No glitz or glam or glitter or shimmer



au naturel.

No synthetic stylization,

no E number elaboration,

no colourful calorification





a piquant honesty,

an encircling love so touching,

in that moment so profound,

so tangible,

like the chocolate tuiles battlements

around the fruitful fortification of



lovingly holding it all together yet

for a split second

a hesitancy,

a fear of losing this precious instant


I could not,

would not

cut into and destroy something

so sublime.

But not for long as with great abandon,

that treasured feeling

safely seized and hidden deep

within the dungeon of my heart,

the steel blade proceeds to dismember and disembowel



it’s elegant beauty now destroyed,

it’s bulwarks breached.



Three score years.


 For three score years, or very nearly,

my body has orbited around the sun

glued firmly to this revolving evolving globe.

No nausea now and still firmly attached,

Fate has of late breathed gently upon me.

Half a Century was a rollercoaster of a ride!

One of extremes,

of swings and roundabouts,

of turbulence and snatched serenity,

of birthing and nurturing,

of complexity and perplexity,

and never once did the man in the moon

turn his comforting face away from me.


And what now I ask myself,

not without a smidgen of apprehension?

With three score years, tears and travels,

where to now?



I know now why my heart desires to fly,

to break free and soar and 

ride the winds of change,

like eagles swirling nonchalantly heavenwards

as I stand precariously upon Life’s next knife-edge.

The very same proteins embedded within my tender heart 

and miraculously evolved in the blink of an eon 

causing it to hop and skip and jump,

Oh miracle of miracles…

the very same…

signal insect wings to relax and contract,

to fly and flit and hover so gracefully!


I have my answer now,

so beautifully simple and simply beautiful.

Entanglements and ensnarements

are of this world,

of human making and manifesting,

blinding, binding entrapments.

Outwith and within, 

oh wisdom of the Ages and Sages,

You alone are my teachers now.


with a newly re-remembered lightness of heart,

eagerly and delightfully I await

Your next instructions…


Photo courtesy of

2 chemicals, actin and myosin, evolved long ago to allow the muscles in insect wings to contract and relax. So insects learnt to fly. Today, the same 2 proteins are responsible for the beating of the human heart, and when one is absent, the person’s heartbeat is inefficient and weak, ultimately leading to heart failure. When one of these is absent in an insect, wings will grow but cannot flap, and are therefore useless. 

This priceless information gleaned from Deepak Chopra:  The Book of Secrets, with thanks.

Eureka: all living things are intimately connected and co-dependent.

As my 60th Birthday looms and many moons have passed, my 6 children and partners, together with friends are planning a large family-fest at The Inn on the Loch on January 15th. Do I sense a stirring of impending shyness of such a spotlight, within myself? Ah I am touched and humbled by the love shown by them all and my dear husband, John, who tolerates my quirkiness of spirit! My deepest love to you all…

…and to my dear friends on WordPress for your patience and understanding.

A New Year’s walk by the Clyde…


ebb and flow

flow and ebb

fluctuations and situations

assumptions and expectations

“All the world’s a stage

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages…”

thus saith the Bard of Avon.

life’s tattoos evidenced upon mind and body 

an abundance of Acts already ” soliloquyed ”

and yet more to unfold…

Prologue performed many moons ago with

subsequent Chapters somewhat slapdashly executed

all the while searching, searching , searching…

for flowing rhyme and intuitive wisdom

a Spring cleaning and a simplifying 

an acceptance and a blossoming

a slowing down and an opening up…

Nature…my teacher and my guide 

gently and lovingly cajoling me to look and

tenderly presenting Her paradoxes before me…

calm before the storm as

the Clyde gently and coquettishly

teases the riverbank with her caresses

then with no warning

she unleashes her twin daughters

torrents of torment and turbulence 

raging venom and spewing spray 

upon all who venture near…

humbly I bow before Your majesty and magnificence

ebb and flow

flow and ebb.



After more rainfall than we can ever remember this Autumn and Winter of 2015, and such mild temperatures, the twin waterfall of Bonnington Linn on the Clyde at New Lanark was magnificent! 

Hogmanay 2015/ 2016

It was a pivotal day.

A day of reflection and introspection,

Of looking backwards and forwards  simultaneously,

mimicking Światowid,

who with four heads could survey at once

the four corners of the earth.

2015 was not yet extinguished whilst

2016 had a foot firmly over the threshold,

waiting patiently to be ushered in.

It was a day of musings and premonitions

Of endings and conclusions,

Of  beginnings and introductions

and all the while Din Eidyn or

Edinburgh whispering to us on the breeze,

calling from the ancient seat of King Arthur,

his bulbous extinct volcanic plug

gracing majestically the skyline for miles around.


We answered the summons, 

the Lang Wang tween Lanark and Auld Reekie

dark and foreboding, dull and weighty,

as if carrying the burdens of the old year

upon it’s worn and  well travelled surface.

The bleakly wild and beautiful countryside 

shrouded in a cloak of  secret mystery.

As the witching hour approached

we settled ourselves against your ancient rocks,

surveying the splendour of your illuminated panorama,

your historic spires and steeples, towers and domes

colourfully spotlit, all eyes upon the Castle, 

principal dancer in the long awaited performance!


As the communal countdown ended 

and your battlements shimmered with changing  hues,

meticulously orchestrated showers of textures and colours

errupted in perfect symmetry and synchronicity

against a crisp and clear winter sky. 

Fireworks fizzed and effervesced,

joyfully embracing each other

against the night canvas,

their deep sonic booms resonating for miles

as gunpowder exploded and a frenzy of energy was released

and all the while a string of oohs and aahs

streaming from incredulous mouths!

As the final and biggest bouquet of golden cornucoppias errupted,

we were enveloped by love and laughter, hugs and kisses 

and  strains of Auld Lang Syne, picked up by the wind

and dispered in all directions, like ghostly messages.


“Should old acquaintance be forgot” emblazoned deeply 

in thought and in heart this night so poignantly,

knowing that a dear friend’s life-cord had finally been cut,

blissful release at last for a beautiful soul 

from it’s agony of pain and crippling sickness

and succour for loved ones harrowly observing and comforting,

 anguish and helplessness a canopy covering all earthly exchanges.

“Alláh-u-Abhá” my dear and blesséd friend…

 Rest in eternal peace and bliss.

We retrace our steps, tangibly aware of the frailty and brittleness of Life

and give thanks that we are still here, to love, to cry, to live, to just be!

For another year…Insha Allah, God willing…


Fluid good wishes, promises and hopes appliquéd onto

Elderflower cordial and cava in tall fluted glasses!

Returning along the Lang Wang of 2016, 

all is brilliantly lit up by a glowing orange segment moon,

lying mellow and unperturbed in a sky devoid of light pollution,

surrounded by a trillion stars of varying intensity.

The Heavens in all their majesty speak to us of 

past and forgotten memories and gently cajole us into


a trusting acceptance that we are indeed held lovingly in

the palm of the Beloved…

The once lack lustred and dull waters of Harperrig

now lit up and illuminated with a heavenly glow.

Hogmanay: In Scotland, New Year’s Eve and the celebrations that take place at this time.

Światowid: an ancient Slavic deity with 4 heads, each looking in a separate direction and symbolically at the 4 seasons, at once.

Din Eidyn: a dun or hill fort associated with the kingdom of the Gododdin, 550-650 B.C. Some scholars say that this is the original location of modern day Edinburgh.

King Arthur’s Seat: the main peak of the group of hills in Scotland, that form most of Holyrood Park. It is situated in the centre of Edinburgh, an extinct volcanic plug, 1 mile, ( 1.6km ), to the east of Edinburgh Castle.

Lang Wang: Long Way in Scots, forms part of the A70 major road between Ayr on the West coat and Edinburgh on the East coast. 

Auld Reekie: Scots for “old Smokey”, an affectionate name for the city as in days of old the smoke rising from the lums, ( chimneys ), could be seen floating heavily over the Old Town, when viewed from surrounding countryside.

Alláh- u-Abhá: God is the most Gracious, ( Arabic ). A greeting used by Babhá’is upon meeting and repeated many times throughout the day.

Auld Lang Syne: literally in old Scots, times long past.  It is a Scots poem written by Robert Burns in 1788 and set to the tune of a traditional folk song. In English speaking countries it is sung at the stroke of midnight to bid farewell to the old year.

Photographs: with courtesy and thanks to: and