Thursday 30 December 2010


A winter's morning. A sky like a dirty old slate.
Trees untidy, lead-coloured brushes against it.
The air full of snow and rain 
and the hour full of the absurd necessity of going out hunting.

At such a moment there is one thing impossible 
and that is to see a summer's day.
White flowers in the evening seem the only terms 
in which it can become remotely visible.
Say stephanotis in darkness.

from The Rising Tide by Molly Keane.

Embroidered table cloth from my grandma;
from the archives.
(The Manual and I are locked in mortal combat.)

Keening -
  a form of vocal lament associated with mourning
that is traditional in Scotland and Ireland.


  1. Good luck with that manual. Shudder.

    I like your mirror photo!

  2. Relax. Don't let the fact that an entire blogosphere waits to pass judgement put you off.. There's no pressure...
    Mastering the manual is just a matter of moral fibre, my dear.

  3. Oh I love Molly Keane! And your grandmother's embroidery is beautiful.

  4. Keening -
    a form of vocal lament associated with mourning This is the first time I heard of this term. Beautiful shots of that embroidery.