Sunday Stills: The Long and Winding Road

memorial-gardenThis winding road runs quietly through the peaceful memorial garden in the City of London Cemetery in East London… a long and winding road in more ways than one.


Butter curls…

Today I was thinking about butter curls – those little ridged single curls of butter pre-shaved off the hard solid block and presented on the table in fancy little dishes in the hotels and restaurants of my childhood. Beautiful yellow tongues of the best butter, elegant and individual and decidedly decadent in their sensuous style.

Nowadays, of course, we have those soulless foil-sealed single-portion plastic-moulded packs – disappointingly boring to look at and fiddly to open. They may be infinitely more hygienic, but are indeed ‘sterile’ in every meaning of the word.

I remember the gloriously rich dairy smell of freshly churned golden butter, remember making butter with my grandmother in her farmhouse kitchen, turning it and shaping it into rectangular pats with ridged wooden butter paddles. I remember the butter sitting out in the butter dish, unrefrigerated, soft and spreadable and so lusciously lovelyโ€ฆ

I think it’s time I invested in a butter curler, made some home made butter again and introduced my grandchildren to the joys of individual butter curls nestling invitingly on a pretty plate ๐Ÿ™‚


Weekly Writing Challenge: Digging for Roots



Bleak Highland landscape –

Damp mist-shrouded mountain-sides,

Brooding weathered skies –

Mirrors my melancholy,

Reflects my passionate soul.

Although I currently live in England, Scotland is the land of my birth, and however much I may love experiencing different landscapes from across the globe, nothing touches my emotions in quite the same visceral way as the spectacularly beautiful landscapes of home.

This blue-toned bleak landscape was taken this morning from the main-line train travelling southwards from Inverness to London, and I found the particular mix of solitary tree, wild heavy sky, delicate morning mist and smooth-surfaced water beautifully captured my own peaceful-yet-restless inner tensions.

Written in response to DP Weekly Writing Challenge: Digging for Roots

Train of Thought…

Eight-hour train journey,
Travelling through countryside,
Scenery serene.
Landscape rushing by,
Relentless rocking motion,
Lets me contemplate.
While away the hours,
Indulge my own company,
Catch up with my thoughts.
Rails clickety-clack,
The rhythmic rattling soothes me,
Lulls me to slumber…

As darkness descends,
Grey-tinged reflections, mournful,
Stare straight back at me.
Boredom seeps slowly,
Chills me to the deepest bone,
Pervades every pore.
Growing discomfort,
Numbness of body and mind,
Nothing brings relief.
Patience dissipates,
I long for this journey’s end –
Until the next time…