The Green Woodpecker.

An Englishman abroad Confounded.

 

Horsetails of spider tailed spuming white on damp washed blue. Bunched mistletoe globed white spheres ejaculated onto a purest green cloth. Stoned soft crags of buttered yellow. The Norman William b******s favourite stone bursting relieved from swallowing sticky sly cloaking ivy. Sounds of living in and on water. Clucked and screeched noises both natural and engineered, passing along and beyond this feudal country river. Monuments to and movements for forgotten lives lived on shining ox bow bends and raised fleeting, sand shoals.

Three graves at a bend in the river for the first and greatest genius of all in his adopted death land. With resting places so important here and celebrated by all for what they bring.

University expeditions to find earthen sherds washed along these temporary shoals. Caesarean and Charlemagne pots broken, cracked and telling long forgotten tales.

A bridge and a place of breezed liquid rest. A cafe, a studio and a falling water spider legged jetty. Large barges, bicycles and wine both bottled and grape vine growing beyond and down from elaborate faerie floating towered and crenellated castles. Light clouded skies against river tamed gorged and green valleys. A really rich old man river flowing brown and gold and green and shining blue to a storm  bay in the huge ocean sea..

Gypsies in primary painted caravans with secondary painted animals. Horse and dry barking warning dogs. Night time midged watermeadow with border mistletoe trees and gunned green woodpecker. Banging a speared red top knot against other more knotty problems. The sound echoing across the pastoral calm evening river.

Fires and dancing, small guitars playing and woodsmoke cooking. Parties down with spluttering, rich scented pipes to wash in a flat mirror river. These painted pipes shared.

A much older woman asking in wonderful English if I liked; and I said I did. Lost then forever in a journey to somewhere much different and without the romance to follow.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

It is a portrait, in the visual and prose senses. The detail reflects a keen eye and the ability to translate that eye to the page, which is just about as hard to do as anything in writing can be to do. The pacing--languid, easy without descending into an inappropriate Hemingway-esque brusqueness--is pitch perfect.

[...]

. oh ... what an absolutely stunning piece of writing, monsieur ... exquisite in ever sense ... for all senses ... amazingly inspiring work ...

[SM Davis]

My favorite painting in LIFE!! But then you know that.

Night time midged watermeadow with border mistletoe trees and gunned green woodpecker. Banging a speared red top knot against other more knotty problems. The sound echoing across the pastoral calm evening river.

The stuff dreams are made of.

[R J Askew]

You make me want to get out there a live a bit. It sounds like a great jaunt. My favourite line is 'Banging a speared red top knot against other more knotty problems.'

[Ladysue]

You have given the reader such wonderful descriptive scenes...a beautiful path you travel...you took me there... a lovely read...

[emmajoy]

'Monuments to and movements for forgotten lives lived on shining ox bow bends and raised fleeting, sand shoals.' How i miss your musical words, Ken .. you don't need crotchets and quavers, just twenty six letters making magic.

What a wonderful journey you took, full of colour and memories, noticing the smaller magics of being somewhere new to you, 'Bunched mistletoe globed white spheres ejaculated onto a purest green cloth' .. ' A really rich old man river flowing brown and gold and green and shining blue to a storm bay in the huge ocean sea.. .. Gypsies in primary painted caravans with secondary painted animals. Horse and dry barking warning dogs. Night time midged watermeadow with border mistletoe trees and gunned green woodpecker. '

I would have been there if I could .. wonderful.

[Emily B]

purest poetry . . . wonderful to read

[Ice QueenJen]

What a lovely scene you have painted with your words, almost of times forgotten about life in a caravan. You could almost hear the knocking on the wood knots from the woodpecker too. And I saw a picture of the spider you describe in this, and am amazed at how graceful they can glide over the water. Isn't nature wonderful!

[Phibby Venable]

Gypsies in primary painted caravans with secondary painted horses. Night time midged watermeadow with border mistletoe trees and gunned green woodpecker. Banging a red top knot against other more knotty problems.

I love this. All of it is beautiful, though. I kept seeing image and image
unfold in such splendor. Excellent.