Comes in bowls

OK - I've been writing today and I've been allowed to record some audio poems. Once free, I emerged into the stunning gentle beauty of the Test Valley. If you've not been here, put it on your priority list with Venice, Paris and Charentes. Yes - it is a gentle beauty, self confident, thatched and patched with fields of green and gold, called by crows, bumble hummed with bees, lifted by larks, softened by silence.  This evening a team play cricket on a village green, an impossible profusion of roses slam dunk cottage doors with exclamation marks of belligerent tenderness. These hammer blows of beauty kiss as I imagine an angel would kiss a lamb. OK that's double purple flame grilled whopper OTT - but that's want I want to say to you about the power of this loveliness. Rejoice in this life. Kiss your lover as if their lips were love itself. Don't let me be the only sad romantic, tearful as an iris blooms and a duck planes in to land on mirrored water.


Cricket - I had to mention it. My first memories of cricket were as a girl when my father and brothers listened to it on the radio. It was always the same commentary "Higginbottom, polishes the ball on his testicles, comes in from the gas works end, bowls around the wicket to Homerton-Smythe who bat and pads it away to silly mid off. A ripple of applause stirs pigeons on the boundary as the scoreboard records another maiden had over."


Never can I serve soup or dessert without saying "comes in - bowls." Oh dear, I'm getting a bit dotty and potty. I need my man!!!!