My journey along the Templer Way is taking many routes, with more to follow as I absorb the poetry inspired by our venture. But the words Boat Graveyard have gripped me for now. I am very aware how water, transportation, and the life source of the Teign have evolved over time. Boats that would have been an essential part of life for thousands of years have changed unbelievably in recent years. The freight ships of 2024 so far removed from the local hand built craft of before. Hence my digging into the concept of boat graveyards.
More green and rocky bits will follow. I promise.
Image: 448 boat
I DRAW BREATH yoga breathing blind drawing
Slow, slow I draw breath, my breath
So I might breathe it out on paper.
My breath. Drawn down to belly and toes,
Drawn in, passing colours through closed eyes,
Feeling a path through charcoaled fingers
It lingers in the air and then exhales.
Light, hard, left, right, loose, tight.
To rub or shove, or stretch and curl,
The graphite whorl spells out drawn breath
Across the page of freedom unseen before me.
I will not look yet.
Let the ink jet black unfold its surprise.
Aah, eyes unfurl. Yes. I have drawn breath.
UNEARTHING FIELD TRIP observations of a markmaker
Spectacular fairy ring of rabbit pooh and tender heather
Rusty heifers with mismatched horns, the young ones skittering and
scampering in playful uncertainty
Pale yellow slender grasses growing strangely brighter, glowing even, as
sun fades at the close of making marks
Gorse scratching, gouging, mark making our thighs
Hastily tucking trouser legs into socks for fear of ticks, spiders,
lizards and adders
The magic of fading sun and clouds on dark water pond, that stares back
at us as we stand and look, and stand and look, and then get bitten
Still scratching at imaginary ants in pants, must investigate that later
The path is there, we see it easily on the back track, the light now
faded, but the path still glowing sandy bright, laughing smug at us who
missed it hours before and scrabbled long through thick and thin, rough
and tougher, sticky and prickly, tender lichens pale and magic, heathers
new and shouting colour, embryonic spruce trees fledging their tiny
beginnings
We saw it all
We saw and sought to make our marks
And marks escaped us, but we found one or two and caged them in our
notebooks.