20 March 2013

and the forests will echo with laughter

if only, if only
instead a fine layer of persil snow was gathering on my coat as I walked home
can't stand the sight of that coat any longer, that and the mittens, the scarves, the lot
back home I am tearing at the zip, throw the coat onto the stairs
the cat jumps and hisses at me
we are so sick of winter.

The new Kurdish cleaner at work is singing. Because she is tired of this winter, she says. And maybe with singing... who knows. But it was a sad song. About loss and complications in love, so she tells me. There are no happy-come-on-spring songs in Kurdistan, at least she cannot remember any.

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now
It's just a spring clean for the May Queen

That's another song, a weird and convoluted one. 
Come on, come on, let's hear it, let's smell spring.


  1. She always stops here for bit before she goes on to your neck of the woods, but she promised me she's on her way.

  2. She'e here too and we're so grateful. Daffs and tulips and buds on the lilac.

    X Beth

  3. We were gifted with a new white veil
    36cm thick on top of the old.