\nThis retablo has been made for my friend Barrie, that he may be easy within himself and free from pain or fear.<\/i>
\n
\nHelsinki Harbour is alive with floes
\nthat dip and grind against the nudging ferry.
\nA dusk-fox waits for fish beside an ice-hole.
\nAn island is a fortress on the sky.
\n
\nNext morning fat, bright mallards stand in snow.
\nThe ferry churns, the mallards move for refuge
\ntipping off yard-deep ice into the channel,
\nlike toy ducks dropped into a child\u2019s warm bath.
\n
\nThat\u2019s how to move into your future.
\nA slickered duck that\u2019s most itself in deep, cold seas.<\/p>\n
\n
\n <\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-includes\/js\/tinymce\/plugins\/wordpress\/img\/trans.gif\" "\\"Next"){kind=spacer}
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Reflection\u00a0<\/strong> The terrain external mirrors the terrain internal. Spain, September 2012<\/strong> Retablo for Barrie Cooke This retablo has been made for my friend Barrie, that he may be easy within himself and free from pain or fear. Helsinki Harbour is alive with floes that dip and grind against the nudging ferry. A dusk-fox waits for fish beside an ice-hole. An island is a fortress […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":67,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[298,299],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nThere\u2019s a line of light on the lake through the sieving rain,
\nand swallows, skimming the face of the rushy meadow.
\nA grid of stone walls, loosening, falling away.<\/p>\n
\nSwallows, skimming the face of the rushy meadow.
\nThoughts, breaking the line of the line of light.
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nIt is seven o\u2019clock on a beach in Cantabria. The light is blueing, the tide is on the way in. Families pack to go home. Sunshades close like bright flowers. Children trot after trudging figures, burdened with bags and back-packs and armfuls of random possessions. Some encampments stay camped on the sands. The light is changing. Everyone looks sadder and more beautiful. I am reading a book about Germany in the late thirties.
\n
\n
\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"