Wednesday, 12 August 2015

Not an Eagle's Feather

There is a feather floating like an exquisite hovercraft over the balcony tiles this morning.  Its beauty and its engineering tell me of its Grand Creator, Jehovah of armies. And it also reminds me of a poem - Browning? - that I am now going to see if I can find online.

And, yes, there it is.

Its the ending of his poem "Memorabilia", and it goes like this:

  I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
      And a certain use in the world no doubt,
Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone
      'Mid the blank miles round about:

   For there I picked up on the heather
      And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather—
      Well, I forget the rest.

This is a seagull feather.  

And what a good thing Captain Butterfly did not catch its owner perching on our balcony (if indeed it did).  Not good for the blood pressure of either. Or of mine.

Linda came round last night to introduce us to John.  What a lovely guy he is.  I hope we will be seeing a lot more of him.

I have reviews up on my Amazon site now - good ones too!   I am so happy about it, as I really wanted "Till they Dropped" to be a good read.   And it seems people might want to read more. I must talk to my young publisher about "Small Island", which is basically finished and ready to go.
This is a link to "Till they Dropped", available on Kindle:

the Kindle app can be downloaded free to mobiles or pc:

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