charles barrow's writing

I'll always stop to read a blue plaque on the wall of a house, to satisfy my idle curiosity about who may have been born, lived, briefly visited (yes I'm talking about you Charles Dickens), or died in the property. Very often I find I haven't even heard of the luminary being honoured, so it's as well the plaque always tells me what said honouree did for a living, or why they're being recognised. However, I recently came upon this beautiful slate plaque on the stone gatepost of a very large house in Oxford, and whilst the written information on offer is minimal, this is more than compensated for by the simple visual cue, which is stellar. Photo is the author's own.

Emergence I steel myself to step outside. A final glance through the window reveals crystal blue skies, an early sun gilding black branches, glittering frost in pockets of shadow on the borders; riming emerald crocus spears. “Bury them deep. Bulbs are a promise of brighter days. Like treasure.” These were almost his final words to me, as we laboured last autumn. “Golds, amethysts, pearls. Riches for when you’ll need them most. Afterwards.” I’d been wrapped in a smothering duvet of despair. Since. With neither the will nor strength to cast it off. My heart a bitter winter graveyard of grief.  Yet today breaks, somehow, differently. Those resolute crocuses will have pushed their way through earth like iron, just as he’d promised. A reminder that hard winters do fall away, springtime does return, offering renewal. I crack open my door. Birdsong drifts in and calls me out into a newly defined world. Photo is the authors own  

I grew a terracotta pot full of ranunculus once, many years ago. It was a glorious sight and bought joy to my heart. The cultivated ranunculus, or ranunculus asiaticus, or Persian Buttercup, is indeed related to the common buttercup, but is a much larger plant, has a tight whorl of petals, and comes in a variety of colours - pink, orange, yellow, white, or red, as opposed to the primarily yellow, open face of the smaller, wild buttercup that sprouts every year on the lawns outside. My favourite colour of ranunculus is orange. It is the vibrant, vivid orange of the marigold, the California poppy, the Solero ice lolly. I've attached a photo of some orange California poppies that I grew last year, to give you an idea of the colour I'm talking about here. That first pot of ranunculus I grew was wildly successful. I think because I grew it back then in complete ignorance of just how fussy a plant a ranunculus is. The soil, the moisture and the temperature levels have all got to be ...

Not a good month for me, on a personal level. In fact, the last eight months have brought loss and grief and anxiety on a large scale. This month brought more terrible news, and still more lurks on the near horizon. January is always a long, dark month to be gotten through, but this one is the darkest in memory. So I have been particularly grateful when I have happened upon something that has brought a little light and positivity into my life, and has taken me out of my day-to-day. Books (IQ84 Murakami), films (Wonka), nature (planting Spring bulbs), and wildlife (taking part in the Big Garden Birdwatch) have all helped to get me through. And a big help, from an unexpected quarter was the night sky. The freezing, cloudless nights through early to mid-January, afforded me a wonderful view of the Wolf Moon as it transformed from a fingernail fragment to a full moon over the course of weeks, and what made it even more special was the dazzlingly bright planet Venus hanging in the sky behin...