Come, firelights,

Show me a path through mountains.

Aid my broken steps,

Set each on stony ground, not to fall

And fail again.


Come, light my way.

Weave round trees and silver leaves;

Guide this weary heart,

Bring back its beat to the strength

Of the drum.

her truest love

the wind sighs gently over the branches, almost bare of their mantles of crisp leaves. With each break in the wind, the branches too sigh, a peaceful burden lifted, letting them rise back to the sky. With each lifted burden, another leaf falls.

Weaved from the tree’s old cloaks, a carpet of red and gold forms, slowly yet surely. One more leaf tumbles on the breeze and makes its way to its place in the golden carpet.

A fox sits contemplating, watching the leaves drop, one after another after another. She stares all around her in wonder, as if she has realised her kindred spirit with her home. In the blazen colours surrounding her being, she feels an impossible warmth, a truest love.

The wind sighs gently through her fiery coat, but the wind lacks the forest’s new love. The fox turns to face the breeze, chilling now, as if it were ice itself. Looking up, she sees one last leaf on the branches. Alone, like her, in a forest of naked trees. She feels more forlorn than she ever has, knowing that when it falls, her truest love will be gone and the snow will replace the autumnal hearth.

The wind sighs and the last leaf flickers, struggling against its gnarled branch to stay. The fight is lost. It twists and turns, as if in excruciating pain, through the ever colder air biting it as it falls. It takes its final place, filling the final hole in the golden carpet.

The fox lowers her gaze and turns away. The bitter cold is come, her truest love is gone.

Highland Prince-oil on canvas


Finally, i have finished my latest painting. It may have taken me far too long, but i put that down to it being my first large scale oil painting. As you can see from the previous post with it in, there haven’t been many changes but changing the shape of the island and finishing the foreground has made it so much better…in my eyes at least. From painting this, i can safely say that oils are much nicer to use and certainly more versatile than acrylics. Clouds in particular can be formed beautifully with oils, with the capability to make such a soft and blended finish yet also able to give a good hard line too.  From now on i doubt that I will be using acrylics for anything other than quick sketches. Oils are simply beautiful paints.


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the squirrel and the crows

Red squirrel (Sciurus vulgaris) on a tree. Bro...

Within the calm of nature’s dream

sits a creature under its furry tail

and calm content eyes brightly gleam

to find a nut on its treetop trail

a squirrel so full of life and glee

knows not of his cold wise audience

two feathered fiends watch from a tree

and glare at him in sickly silence

calm stops fear creeps inside his heart

a raucous growl high in the trees

the crows spread wings to soon depart

to stalk another forest it sees.

Although most of my time is currently taken up with revision, I am technically on holiday at the moment and wanted to take some time to write something about one of moments this holiday where  I haven’t been locked inside with the books pen and paper.

This short poem, which i may extend later depending on how I’m feeling, is based on our outing to watch the red squirrels in the lake district. Sorry to any readers who regularly visit the lakes and are now wondering where on earth there is a place where you can be sure to get a glimpse of these beautiful creatures-we’re keeping it secret to avoid the poor things having to move on somewhere else.

On this particular watching, we only saw one-usually there is a family of about six, which is simply incredible to watch so seeing only one was a little disheartening but still very enjoyable.  There were however two crows sitting silently in the trees above the little creature and although they were minding their own business i came up with this idea that the crows were watching this lonely squirrell, plotting against it and the other creatures of the forest. I actually love crows and ravens, and this sudden view of evil crows coming from my mind suprised me, but nevertheless it made for an interesting scene.

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment 🙂 (and to my most recent award giver, i promise i will make a post about it in the near future, but not just yet. thanks for your patience!)

lingering mists

Upon fearful trees lays a smoky veil

Obscuring and confusing a perfect view

Through the house of Gaia, there is no trail.

Yet around the unseen shine stunning hues.

What lies within those covered trees

That seem to hold such mystery?

What magic holds the veil upon the reeds

Lining the still lake and gentle streams?

How can one majestic scene

Be both serene and fearful

As if it were a vivid dream

Both nightmare and hopeful?


(Artwork by me, quick oil sketch from imagination)

the first of the blossom

At the ends of gnarled bark fingers that last week had no vigour

Green pearls appear and grow from slumber into hope

They protect the souls of newborn life away from winter’s rigour

Through a biting brutal season has this noble forest coped.


From the pearls upon the fingers a delicate creation forms

An intricate origami had no maker other than nature

And it folds itself further to others it won’t conform

As all of nature’s folded flowers mature


It‘s not long before the world’s aflame with white, pink and yellow fire

As more fingers adorn themselves with life giving pearls

Blooming into elegant flowers that reach across and to the sky

And at the ends of the bark clothed branches not one can see the gnarls.

English: Closeup of blooming cherry blossoms

Image via Wikipedia

Missing the Highlands

A lush green blanket of noble trees

Stand tall in valleys as they weave

Through contours of an unspoilt scene


The Highlands

My home

I miss you


Magnificent mountains shape the land

Where man has not yet laid his heavy hand

To judge Nature with his violent demands


The Highlands

My home

I miss you


Through hills gently rolls a glistening stream

To meet others of its humble kind is its only dream

To form a mighty river before running out of steam



The Highlands

My home

I miss you


Spreading her wings bravely to the sky

The Golden eagle sets across the loch to fly

To match its glory no winged being could even try.


The Highlands

My home

I miss you