The Cormorant Tree
I’ve just done 561 words on the way people treat shared footpaths in a country park. It was from the point of view of a man who struggled round four miles of such paths whilst trying to master the controls of a mobility scooter. Somewhere along the way it started reflecting on society and how some people always seem to take more than their fair share. It was just entering the territory of the refugee and immigration when I decided that this wasn’t where I wanted to be. More importantly, it wasn’t, I thought, where my readers wanted to be. I’m here to practice my writing and portray the persona of an electronic village idiot, not write about serious politics. Serious politics and the views of unqualified bloggers can be found anywhere.
This is Ferry Bridge. More of this in a later post.
So, back to the country park. I was interested by the low bird numbers and the boring selection of breeds. A day at Clumber or Rufford would have produced much more in terms of history, woodlands, birds and atmosphere. To be fair, Ferry Meadows was, within my lifetime, farmland criss-crossed with public footpaths. Then they started extracting gravel, after that they developed it as a country park. I’m sure, as the years roll on, I will be glad to have it on the doorstep, and the list of interesting birds will begin to develop.
As I travelled round the lakes yesterday, even though I did worry about driving into people and various other things, I did find my head filling with suitable subjects for writing. I’ve had a rough year from the point of view of inspiration – it started with The Cough, moved on to the trip to urology, became a long convalescence and then we moved house. It has been just over twelve months where I have done very little, and my subject matter shrank to old age, memories and what I could see from the window.
A distant heron dreams of great things to come . . .
On the positive side, I made 30 submissions and had 21 acceptances.
On the negative side, I missed a lot of submission opportunities, grew stale and gave serious thought to giving up writing poetry.
At the moment I’m feeling very positive and have a target of 100 submissions this year. I’m not sure where they will all come from, so it’s not a fully formed plan yet but, as they (almost) say in Field of Dreams, if you build it they will come. That applies to most things – if I say 100 submissions, I will manage around 100 submissions, if I build a better bird habitat in the garden, i will attract more birds.
Tree with Orange Spot – one of many marked for death by the authorities.
Pictures are from yesterday’s electric expedition.
