The Lord of the manor

Ann of Norway I have been there, I was there in 2008 when I did a tour of GB friend to friend. My sister lives near Inverness so we visited that wonderful little castle with the great and magic forest peeping in at the windows,(redwoods too!) and the river quietly slipping past on its orange sandy beaches and small stones; the toadstools were not hiding elves, but perhaps I didn't look well enough; and in the gardens where the ghosts of lovers past were wandering through the rose arches and avenues; the huge canopy of beech trees making a fitting parasol as one entered in the dappled sunlight. Ah yes And then there was the castle itself with its mysterious stories, not to mention "Out damned spot, out I say!" and Shakespeare's connection with its atmosphere. And way out in the Scottish Highlands where the Battle of Cullodden Moor was fought and Bonnie Prince Charlie, and the skirl o' the pipes eerily echoing to this day among the copses and heather'd hills, blood running in the becks and tears of rain still hanging on every leaf, grass blade and eddy of wind. Ah the atmosphere of things past doesn't escape enhancing the world of today, its all a case of being AWARE is it not mand? Just today I received a write from the Norwegian poets group:- Roughly trans intro:- ...a little poem by Wallace Stevens, this May evening, In green and windy Wales I remembered this poem. Tuva Langjord. When I was little I thought that it was the trees that created the wind. Wallace S. seems to have thought that it was mostly humans who created the wind, or that the earth is a person, a soul. It is a responsibility I can live with. (Tuva) THE WIND SHIFTS This is how the wind shifts: Like the thoughts of an old human,  Who still thinks eagerly And despairingly. The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her. The wind shifts like this: Like humans approaching proudly, Like humans approaching angrily. This is how the wind shifts: Like a human, heavy and heavy, Who does not care.                Fra Harmonium, Stevens' første diktsamling, utgitt da han var 44 år gammel (1923). From Steven's first poetry collection given out when she was approx. 44 yrs old(1923)     ------------------------------------- It's the birthday of poet Kathleen Jamie, born in Renfrewshire, Scotland (1962). She's not particularly well known, but many critics consider her to be one of the best living poets in the U.K.; and the London Times has called her "the leading Scottish poet of her generation." Her poetry books have received about a dozen major prize nominations, including three T.S. Eliot Awards, two Faber Memorial Prizes, and two Forward Poetry Prizes. The Treehouse (2004)won the 2005 Scottish Book of the Year Award.   She said: "When we were young, we were told that poetry is about voice, about finding a voice and speaking with this voice, but the older I get I think it's not about voice, it's about listening and the art of listening, listening with attention. I don't just mean with the ear; bringing the quality of attention to the world. The writers I like best are those who attend." So this gives you an idea of their group, we just send in remarks and poems and sometimes people comment on them. Every day one or two come, mostly in N. of course!! Love to you from here its all blue, the landscape strangely beautiful towards grey with the bright sense of Spring here and there in the new, sticky perfumed birch leaves and the warm salmon coloured roofs of houses. Love Ann.