December 22, 2012
A ‘ dark’ post but appropriate for the time of the year. Early evening in the Old Town High Street shows glistening puddles - it’s drizzling yet again, so very few folks out and about . . . but quintessentially British.
At Schmizu, the window and the shop inside, look stylish – as always – beautiful display and the shop’s still open . . .
. . . equally creative are the windows of Bells. Many buildings – houses and shops – have discreet festive lighting – just visible. Curtains are left open at Christmas time, to allow the outer world to enjoy what is happening within . . .
. . some shop windows are all about window shopping – dresses – yes, possibly . . .
. . . and such fragile memories from childhood show in the double frontage display of Hendy’s Home Store.
Pretty swags across George Street . . .
and smaller swags in the windows of Skylon in Norman Road
In the windows of Wayward, it’s a complete composition with intriguing details of ribbons and of carefully selected ornament . . .
The poems take exception to the rain.
They complain of their ankle-joints,
They reserve the right
not to be relied upon.
They put on weight.
They hoard their sleep
like currency –
not a crumb or a word
let slip, not a coin
in the collecting-plate.
Under the Christmas tree they lie
Immobile, with their travellers’ eyes.
When the day drowns them out
they look to the merciful night.
Night that takes the form of a train
crossing a forest.
from the silent branches. Jo Shapcott December 4