Our Dolphins return!

From the distant ocean,between Port Isaac and Port Quinn,legend has it that a sad mermaid occupied a sea cave along that stretch of coastline.For eons of time,she had entertained porpoises in her retreat on the North Cornish coast .With her tears of salt water,she sulked in her lair with no companions to soothe her depression.We might wonder why she lost her dolphins,wether they swam off to more temperate climes,or was there another more sinister reason.

Mermaids don’t drop anchor ,or sail into Port,but they need,nay ,have to feel wanted and admired.When her dolphins were there,they adored her,brought gives a plenty from the basin of plenty,and ,occasionally,they brought their prize possessions s,Pearls.It was to this conclusion that our mermaid had come to,that their pearls had been ransacked,and they had swam to retrieve them.These dolphins were loved in their sea life community,and they wouldn’t have left their spawning grounds as their survival depended on the perpetuation of their species.With these thoughts to grapple with,it was no surprise that she had become forlorn,dejected,and very black of mood.

There wasn’t an easy way to keep dolphins from swimming off,as their movement,intelligence,and agility,allowed them to cover huge distances in very shorts spaces of times.This painful conclusion,this inertia,this loss of company would test our Mermaid,and she would have to find the strength from within herself to continue to live out her life on the coast.If she followed them,then she might be prey to the sharks and whales that might patrol the open sea,leaves no her defenceless to their attacks.She knew that the dolphins acted as mediators,they were respected through the whole of Poseidon,and as lng as they were swimming in those waters ,she would be safe.She knew that they might be back,but the not know no when was extremely stressful to her.

She had given many of the Dolphins names over the years by way of identification,thus allowing a free flow of communication to exist between them.Those Cornish folk knew full well of our Mermaid and her Dolphins,and they told of this legend to their children in the hope that they would pass on the legend to their offspring as a living legend almost.

Because Pearls in any society are a source of great value,we have to conclude that the return of the dolphins with “The Pearl was of inestimable price””heralded immense celebration to our Mermaid.Such was the noise arising from thenDophins and the joy of our mermaid ,it can be concluded as such.

As legends go,there has to be a lesson that is then told,and it can be told to us all :When the Dolphins arrived back,it wasn’t the value that f their cargo in the form of the Pearl f great price,but rather the value of their presence to the Mermaid that would sustain her ,and so we tell the story that a life without companionship is no life,and the Cornish motto has always,”One from r all,all for one”

Thank you.

Monday mid-day.

It almost mid-day,its half way,it’s Monday,

Stating the obvious ,putting down a marker.

“Tell me why,I don’t like Mondays”,

Sayeth the Geldoff,or Sir to you,or you’ll get trapped in his trap.

Sit down,grab a sandwich,talk about your weekend,your highs your lows,

Monday Mid-day is upon us and there you go.

Nature’s glory

As the birds sings in my garden,I wonder if they would ever stop,or do they just sing less,or softer ,or in a shift system.It seems a juvenile question to ask,s I am a 59 man ,and,of course,I ask it in the rhetorical sense,but it’s salient to me.Right now,there are 4distincts sounds in a harmony to me,or,to be exact,in a string quartet form.Giving musical terms to there sounds might appear a little grand,but it’s the way that I can appreciate their sheer grandeur.This musical spectacle wasn’t the same down in the estuary where I have been for the last week.There,there were birds galore,but their existness seemed to be part of a much larger ecosystem and one that I wasn’t truly familiar with.

Like music,bird songs soothes me,enabling me to tap into an emotional refreshment that other sounds don’t always offer.Their tones,their solos,duets,trios,and quartets fascinate me and always have.Its never a burden to wake up in the concert room with their acoustic and their imprint on our souls.Sometimes,I play the songs in my head ata much slower speed a number of times,yes,it’s a musical muse and no other,but it has the affect of regeneration,helping me to connect with my natural surroundings.

We all have stresses and strains,and some are beyond our control if you like.As I wrote that,I thought of all the young people awaiting their exam results that will descend upon them in the next couple of weeks.My pupils,many whom I’ve known  for a number of years,have their future academic life tied into those results,and I feel that it must be a tough time for them all.

Like so many of us now,we are all bombarded with electronic alerts and messages that the real time sounds of the birds,or the sound of the trees swaying in the wind,might appear old hat.However,these simple things in many ways,do have their restorative powers that we shouldn’t u derestimate.

Soaking  up nature is so important imho.

Home is…….

All the sounds and smells that you know,

All the reminders of things not done,

All the people who live on your street,

All the animals in your vicinity,

All the faces you know in the supermarket,

All the gardening that needs to be done,

All the lessons that you didn’t plan ,

All the dogs and cats that used to live here,

All the Rabitts and Guinea Pigs and fluffy visitors,

All your books on the shelfs that mark your life,

All the yesterdays and tomorrow’s.

That what home is,to me,at least.

Water’s Edge!

As the Mirror Dinghy and the Laser moor for the night ,

It’s time to say goodbye to Anthony Passage.

This estuary has provided hours of non tv watching,

Quite an achievement for a body of water.

It speaks in its tidal imagery,

It’s ebbs and flows,it’s tacking boats,and rowers couplings,

With birds galore to gorge it’s bed,when all is said and done,

There is nothing like “messing about on the river”

Terra Nova.

This boat under sail,traditional in its appearance,spied by me through the binoculars ,seems to have a great day in store.There is enough room on her for two people,and they are making headway up the estuary towards the mouth of the Tamar.Water glistens  today as the Sun drenches the river,making it more appealing to the eye,the ear and to the soul.Today,there are more people out on the river,enjoying to charms,its space,it’s canopy of distraction.

Rivers are just the heartbeat and the material arteries of our country,and without them ,we wouldn’t have so many of the animal and bird life that we are all apt to take for granted.As I survey the river from my vantage point,I wonder if you could tire of it if you lived here permanently.Yesterday,I asked someone a question about the place that he lived in,seeing he had arrived at any there cove by his little boat.It seemed such a wonderful thing to me.Yes,I realise that there are many  problems with any form of transportation as nothing is perfect,but life on the river,as Ratty and. Mole and Badger from my childhood love or “The Wind in the willows,surely has currency even now.

So,sail on to Terra Nova ,you queen of the seas,and may you have good ,strong ends to take you to your destination.

To Looe and Back!

From the Low tide,to the glass bottom boat,

To the fishing boats adrift in the mud ,waiting for the tide.

Rain comes down heavily,Wellington boots come out,the Cornish are out,

We complain of rain in August,but it does every year,and we just learn not.
So,Looe,that Jewel in the South coast of Cornwall,with its new sailing school,

Things have changed since I tried to sell slate crafts to the galleries and gift shops.

Yes,it’s still Looe,but it’s more a Zoo,and less of an animal sanctuary,

But the little girl in her Yellow Wellingtons splashing in the puddles worries not.

It’s a favoured holiday destiny for those from the North,it has amusements,kiss me quick hats,fudge,fish n chips,

Why,its not a bad old place,and I kind of like it ,it’s still not the place the real Cornish would call authentic,that’s Polperro.

But,us Cornish like to moan,as a friend from a different land once told me ,and he was right,

So,thank you Looe ,thank you for being you .

In Search of St Anthony!

As moving waves don’t behave,

As birds fly in shapes and forms not predefined,

We,as beings,don’t always behave and act in certain ways.
As silence dictates my observance of its stillness,

It is the prelude,methinks,of the western rains that sweep across the county,

Never one not to be sensitive,I feel it’s threatening presence in this temporary stillness,

For it is,my non “Cliffhanger”,as I know that it will come upon this place.
When all is said about this “St Anthony” stillness,others will,in time notice,as Alfred Rouse noticed it but wrote in eloquent stances,

My words,true and honest,nay,authentic,don’t penetrate like his,for he was,in truth,a Cornish Bard,a genius of his age,

Now,long dead,his words still ring out:”Cornwall is wasted on the Cornish”,

Those words ,brutal and arrogant,were what he felt an upbringing in the clay areas of St Austell were,

They were,toe,a different journey ,a paradox in many ways.
So,,I reflect in this pseudo poem,this story within a poem,this Bard might have dismissed as “Food for the waste paper basket”

But then,would have welled up if I played Chopin,or. Rahms,or Schumann,

So,that memory contained in the poem story,continued in this Anthony observation is my Monday muse,

It was A L Rowse lyrical love fest,it was his favourite country house,it made him well up at the thought of it,

Maybe it was “his real dark lady” and that is what all Bards know.