Watery skies

The wind blows ragged over Windmill Hill 

                       and the rain sweeps across the nut-brown hedges. 

The village pavements glisten and shine with puddles of steel grey. 

Penny lies curled asleep in her basket. 

She doesn't know that on days like these... 
                                   
                       she can walk on the jackdaws' watery skies...

NOVEMBER Moon

November moon sailing across November skies.
My breath is silver fire
while my fingers burn
Deep inside my pockets. 

The rooks are no longer visible 
Among the tangled branches.
So I follow the stars homeward,
Always tracking slightly westwards.

Today I Held Back Time

The moment each year when we move from summer time to winter time is one of those occasions that make us more acutely aware of the concept of time. During the time when I was the church clockwinder these times seemed to be filled with special import and I looked upon them with something of an air of excitement and a strange sense of responsibility.

In some ways the transitions from summer and winter times emphasise the arbitrary nature of time; a construct that we humans impose upon our lives and worlds. Something that can be changed and altered at will. And yet there is also a deeper sense, something that lies underneath our attempts to regulate and contain. The physicality of 'holding back time', by stopping the clock for one hour (much the easiest way to reset time) offered a wonderful window into this experience. Watching from the tower over the sleeping village living through an hour which didn't exist... or did it?  

This is something I wrote about this experience in 2015.

The accompanying photographs were taken from the church tower in 2013 and give a view of the village before the recent phases of development were taking place.   

Walking Back Home from Nineveh

Lilian Hopkins was our village postmistress at Tysoe. Her sudden death on 21st September 2019 came as a shock to us all. She was a truly wonderful person who was, in so many ways, the hub of village life. She seemed to know everyone by name and there was always an unhurried smile and a greeting to all.
We will all miss her and we all have our memories of her. This one is mine.

29th September 2019

The season is on the turn. Watching the clouds drag their heels over windmill hill under a crow-scalded sky. There is something cathartic and affirming about walking unprotected in the rain. The coolness of a warm wind on wet skin, as if the sky has been sucking menthol pastilles.

Climbing haphazard-like to heaven: The Last Winding

After 139 years, on 19th May 2015 the turret clock of St Mary's Tysoe was wound for the last time by hand. This is a reflective record of that last winding using images and video taken at the time.
Words by Richard Goode (2019) Images by Donna and Richard Goode (2013 & 2015)

13th March 2019

Today has been filled with the kind of skies in which rook exalt, throwing ragged silhouettes upon the wind. Ecstatic heraldry.

Breathe deep, if you can.

Things are not all right. Nor will they be.

But there are signals of joy.

Like a bush that burns in the wilderness.