March From The End of March to the End of May

On the last day of March I drove to March (in the fens) to see the roof beam angels of St. Wendreda's Church. I also drove into the town centre, where the infamous town geese (and a swan) took my photographic fancy.

Coming back home, over the next two months I wrote two poems about St. Wendreda's and did nothing with the photos (or this blog).

Finally, just before the current month of May ends, I have uploaded my March photos. These are them (or at least a selection of them). I think the poems are better than the photographs, but there is going to be an even longer wait before the poems see the light of day.

Marching Further Onwards Into March

My previous March post about walking through the mud and cold of March reminded me of a poem of mine. I therefore thought I'd share a recording of me reading it for the Poetry Archive.  This blog is supposed to be a photographic experiment with words, and you've had some March photographs, so now it's the turn of the words.

Walking This Footpath in a High Wind by J.S. Watts

Marching Through March

So I thought the March post should be about daffodils.  I always photograph daffodils in March. Just check back on any of the previous March posts to see for yourself. Also, back in March 2020 I began my sequence of daily walks and daily photographs to accompany lockdown. So, yes, I thought, I should go for a walk to photograph the daffodils.

I pulled on my anorak and welly boots and bravely marched into the March sunshine to capture some daffs, except the sun had gone in and the wind had come up and it was bitterly cold and very muddy.

Also, I began my photo sequence in March 2020 at the end of the month, not the beginning. Whilst some of the local wild daffodils are blooming at the moment, many others have yet to do so. There are therefore fewer daffodils in this post than I was anticipating, but there are some other spring blooms, plus a couple of pheasants and, oh yes, lots of South Cambridgeshire mud.

Focusing on the positive, however, you can't feel how very, very cold it was from the photographs. Be grateful.

In a Bar (or several) on 1st March

So, it turns out that I spent most of Sunday, 1st March in a bar (or several). Purely in the interests of literature, of course. It had nothing to do with alcohol.

Anyway, while conducting a writing group and promoting my new novel, Old Light, at various drinking establishments, I took some random and rather colourful photographs. These are them.

The March of Spring

Another Spring Morning

It begins again with the crow,

perylene-black messenger,

bearer of hope’s green branch,

wielding her leafy trophy she starts

her domestic constructions

high above the flood levels

of the receding winter,

her industrious caws soon joined

by the plaited harmonies

of the small-bird chorus

flitting excitedly in the trees and hedgerows

of the promised spring.

Rafts of bright flowers assemble

spontaneously across the soil,

their wintered bulbs

blowing stored fertility

in bursts of sunshine colour.

The world is getting ready

to replace herself.

Only the trees still flaunt

their naked bones, reminding

us of what we've lost,

what’s to come.

I could easily be swept away by it all,

forget each frenzied new beginning

means another year passed away,

an accumulation of time

that cannot be deconstructed

or brushed off like snow blossom

from the dark shadows of my hair.

The inexorable marching forward,

biological imperative we collude with readily,

the sun calling us awake

to our own self-induced chemical dance –

the lure of another diamond dawn.

J.S.Watts