Two survived the flood.
We are not of their blood,
springing instead from the bones
of the Great Mother - stones,
what have you, rocks, boulders -
hurled over their shoulders
by that pious pair
and becoming people, where
and as they hit the ground.
Since when, we have always found
something hard, ungracious,
obdurate in our natures,
a strain of the very earth
that gave us our abrupt birth;
but a pang too, at the back
Of the mind: a loss...a lack...
Christopher Reid
Happy Equinox Everyone
I'd like to share the poem above which was sent to me by a friend.
It turns out the poem is part of Christopher Reids translation of Ovids Metamorphoses. It was sent to me by Sally Grant whose sculpture is shown above and more here.
You may recognise Sally's work from photos of my home and garden...I have two pieces of work that I love dearly....but the photograph shows 'Whispering Head' in Sally's own garden....enjoying the sun of summer.
Have a lovely day..I intend to visit some standing stones here in the forest....that's if the rain ever stops.
Sally
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