Post by buhi on Dec 31, 2015 15:39:06 GMT 7
Kellogg home
London
What is a home?
Mother natures adopted son
Discovering seasons snowdrops crocuses sticky buds pussy willow catkins
blossom
summer meadows
rosehips apples
the fall
Paradise lost
city scapes
the purple headed mountain
our rock
leaving paradise
solitude loan walks
death in Venice
The Kellogg cornflake box.
A childhood recollection.
Win this ideal home competition.
How?
Just finish the sentence.
"Kelloggs, the ideal breakfast --------
He didn't bother.
Nice house though.
Very modern, shallow sloping roof, large clear glass windows , happy family home.
One day perhaps.
Ah the dream home.
"In every Dream Home a Heartache," Roxy Music.
He had never had a sense of belonging.
A nomad, wanderer.
Vague recollections of the place of birth in the smoggy city.
A chilhood of isolation, emotional vacuum.
The new home away from the rag and bone men, horse drays and stench.
Mother nature adopted him.
Lone walks with his dog , early every morning. Away from the housing estate , discovering a new uncharted world. His world.
An awareness of the changing seasons. Late winter, snow drops, crocuses, sticky buds, pussy willow, catkins.
Early Spring the blossom and awakening of the dawn chorus.
Leafless trees recreating an ageless canopy of warmer days.
He was Nature's adopted son.
Summer meadows teaming with butterflies , wild flowers.
He had discovered love, a love of natural beauty, his very own garden of Eden.
Not that he revealed his secret passion; it was his secret garden.
Anyway noone else seemed to notice. His to delight in alone. The sensual world.
Rosehips, blackberries crab apples. The fruits of summer.
The Fall.
Paradise Lost.
Winter, cold, dark, lifeless. Closed doors, coal fires, the acrid smoke of hell. The hell of his birth.
Nature had her dark side too. Fog, smog, rain ,snow. The pure snow salted to fithy slush.
Rose Cottage escaped nature's wrath.
In winter the air was clean, cold, fresh.
The marsh frigid with frost or snow; alive though, new visitors, ducks, geese from far off lands, seeking a warmer clime to escape the harsher far Northern winter. The occasional hen harrier hunting for any pickings in the fen.
Winter walks were a new found joy, ever changing, a contrast to the dull townscape.
Paradise Regained.
They could have stayed, Ericca was happy there, he too, but for that sense of the nomad.
He did not belong there. Why waste a life pretending to be a part of a place that could never accept him as one of their own.
Country folk are insular, private, often resentful of new settlers.
The cottage was too small to raise their new family in.
He was drying up, his work no longer satisfied him, yet he was trapped in the career. He was a father now, had responsibilities.
The dream time had to end.
There could be a new dream though, new horizons, the unknown awaiting.
Errica was reluctant to move away.
She had her career too and close friends.
Not a loner, a dreamer like him.
The Kellogg house, new home. To the front an apple orchard covered in lichen. Wide gravel path , mature beech hedge.
The main garden to the rear, lawn, flower beds, pond, and a wild woodland bordering it. The crowning glory was the huge beech tree that marked the limit of the garden, but there was no real physical boundary, beyond the dry stone wall, the open fell.
Small cottages beside the front of the villa, abutted the road. The road the boundary of the National Park. They ornamented it, provide a sense of past to the somewhat out of place Kellogg house.
The view was astounding, nothing but farmland stretching over the lowland of the river valley and then the mountains.
"The purple headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning ---"
London
What is a home?
Mother natures adopted son
Discovering seasons snowdrops crocuses sticky buds pussy willow catkins
blossom
summer meadows
rosehips apples
the fall
Paradise lost
city scapes
the purple headed mountain
our rock
leaving paradise
solitude loan walks
death in Venice
The Kellogg cornflake box.
A childhood recollection.
Win this ideal home competition.
How?
Just finish the sentence.
"Kelloggs, the ideal breakfast --------
He didn't bother.
Nice house though.
Very modern, shallow sloping roof, large clear glass windows , happy family home.
One day perhaps.
Ah the dream home.
"In every Dream Home a Heartache," Roxy Music.
He had never had a sense of belonging.
A nomad, wanderer.
Vague recollections of the place of birth in the smoggy city.
A chilhood of isolation, emotional vacuum.
The new home away from the rag and bone men, horse drays and stench.
Mother nature adopted him.
Lone walks with his dog , early every morning. Away from the housing estate , discovering a new uncharted world. His world.
An awareness of the changing seasons. Late winter, snow drops, crocuses, sticky buds, pussy willow, catkins.
Early Spring the blossom and awakening of the dawn chorus.
Leafless trees recreating an ageless canopy of warmer days.
He was Nature's adopted son.
Summer meadows teaming with butterflies , wild flowers.
He had discovered love, a love of natural beauty, his very own garden of Eden.
Not that he revealed his secret passion; it was his secret garden.
Anyway noone else seemed to notice. His to delight in alone. The sensual world.
Rosehips, blackberries crab apples. The fruits of summer.
The Fall.
Paradise Lost.
Winter, cold, dark, lifeless. Closed doors, coal fires, the acrid smoke of hell. The hell of his birth.
Nature had her dark side too. Fog, smog, rain ,snow. The pure snow salted to fithy slush.
Rose Cottage escaped nature's wrath.
In winter the air was clean, cold, fresh.
The marsh frigid with frost or snow; alive though, new visitors, ducks, geese from far off lands, seeking a warmer clime to escape the harsher far Northern winter. The occasional hen harrier hunting for any pickings in the fen.
Winter walks were a new found joy, ever changing, a contrast to the dull townscape.
Paradise Regained.
They could have stayed, Ericca was happy there, he too, but for that sense of the nomad.
He did not belong there. Why waste a life pretending to be a part of a place that could never accept him as one of their own.
Country folk are insular, private, often resentful of new settlers.
The cottage was too small to raise their new family in.
He was drying up, his work no longer satisfied him, yet he was trapped in the career. He was a father now, had responsibilities.
The dream time had to end.
There could be a new dream though, new horizons, the unknown awaiting.
Errica was reluctant to move away.
She had her career too and close friends.
Not a loner, a dreamer like him.
The Kellogg house, new home. To the front an apple orchard covered in lichen. Wide gravel path , mature beech hedge.
The main garden to the rear, lawn, flower beds, pond, and a wild woodland bordering it. The crowning glory was the huge beech tree that marked the limit of the garden, but there was no real physical boundary, beyond the dry stone wall, the open fell.
Small cottages beside the front of the villa, abutted the road. The road the boundary of the National Park. They ornamented it, provide a sense of past to the somewhat out of place Kellogg house.
The view was astounding, nothing but farmland stretching over the lowland of the river valley and then the mountains.
"The purple headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning ---"
