Today I had to photograph a pair of iron-age loom-weights that were found in our garden when some post holes were dug. Just holding them brings a shiver of inspiration to me, so old, so handled, such a domestic reminder that this place has been inhabited for such a very, very long time.
So today, as my life continues to be battered about by events and my blogging is curtailed somewhat, I give you a poem that was inspired by the finding of these items and, later, the activity of clearing broken branches from the top field.
I am gathering wood in the top field,
my back bent I stoop from twig to twig
wrapped in thick layers against the icy
north-easterly that clips the ridge
and slices down the slope.
The goats have settled further along,
near the place I found the loom-weights.
As I move towards them I step
into a silence, where the wind
skips over my head and sun warms.
Then I see her; shadowing me.
And I know she’s left the baby in the hut
her loom stripped of its thread, her man away.
Shapelessly wrapped, she stoops
her back bent, twig by twig, gathering wood.
Thanks to Ellen for showing me how to ‘close-up’ the lines – now I’ll know what to do if I post any more poems here
Hope you liked it anyway… do let me know .. you know I love to hear from you.