Website of poet Elizabeth Rimmer


  • The Quiet Week

    Today is sunny and not even too cold, which makes today the last before the cold air from Siberia hits. Forecasts show that the day time temperatures won’t rise so high and the night time ones will dip lower over the next fortnight, reminding me of that cold spring when daffodils came out and stayed for weeks in the stubborn chill, and seeds didn’t germinate until May.

    But today, I am enjoying it. When I went out to look at the garden just now I was dive-bombed by the first bee, and birds are busy in the hedges and the trees, trying out their courting voices. It sounds as if we have a good few thrushes this year, which is lovely – for most of my time in this house the territory has been dominated by blackbirds, and much as I love them, there is something special about thrush song.

    All the bulbs are rushing out of the ground, except where pigeons have flattened the ground underneath the bird feeder. Last week I moved the feeder to the patio, where they can’t do any damage, and the crocuses are already making up for lost time.

    but the best spring thing is something I couldn’t have photographed. On my way home on Monday morning I looked across the river to a big open field. Just in case this sounds impossibly idyllic, I should say that this field  is between the railway station and an industrial estate, but at the point where I was standing, there is an open prospect across the river and towards the hills, and in the field there were four hares. I have seen single hares on our side of the river, but never four together, and they were staring each other out, chasing each other and doing the mad march hare boxing thing. Even if this cold snap lingers, I think spring has already delivered!

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