Ordinary time is the longest of the church seasons from Epiphany to Lent, and from Pentecost to Advent. It is not marked by many major festivals, which is, why, perhaps not many poems are written about it.
The prayed for rain came at last, a day
of softening showers and then the scudding clouds
Which start to wrestle with the stubborn sun,
And small sour apples shrunken by the drought
Fall hard amid the tough, tenacious docks
While early Autumn leaves are swept towards
The stagnant, weedy pond. We check the app,
Decide to head on out to Richmond Walk
Where city, coast and countryside divide;
To our left the Royal William Yard masks
The tenements and tower blocks behind,
Beyond, the squat Breakwater holds fast
Against the overwhelming, cresting waves
And forms a hard horizon all the way
From Devil’s Point to Mount Edgcumbe’s great
Estate now drenched with drizzle, chill and grey,
Cascading down the densely wooded slopes
Now basking in a warm alluring light,
And as we shelter at Mount Wise I think
How this weather mirrors ordinary time
Where over many months such clarity
Of sight seems at times by questions drowned
And I must work to keep the vision sharp
When fruit falls hard on dry unyielding ground.
Devonport 30 Aug 26
The writings of Revd Tim Buckley 