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Email: lynne (at) lynnerees (dot) com

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Lynne Rees

The Applehouse

Aldon Manor

Aldon Lane

Offham

Kent ME19 5PH

UK

Apple Harvest

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Eat, laugh, cry, remember: Baked Camembert

Once, on a holiday in Malta, I dressed Tony up in my gypsy skirt and stretchy white vest, used two satsumas for breasts and made up his eyes and lips with the brightest colours I had with me. Then I took a photograph. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact he seemed quite tickled by the fuss and attention to detail, but the quantity of rosé we’d shared at Snoopy’s restaurant on the seafront in Sliema earlier in the evening might have had something to do with that.

This was 1988. There were no digital cameras for instant viewing (and, praise be, instant deletion). The only instant photographs at the time came courtesy of Polaroid, with their packages of square film and box-like cameras, and slid out of the front of the machine on shiny thick card that everyone huddled over and watched develop. But they tended to be party cameras, appearing at Christmas, birthdays, engagements. You captured your holiday photos on a proper camera, one you had to load and feed film into, then unload and drop off…

driftwood

the head and neck
of a bird that never existed

in this landscape
of meeting places

river/sea, fresh/salt
pebbled shores rising

to the heaving
shoulders of mountains

or a bird that has always existed
beneath the bark

of a green branch
scoured by Atlantic waves

to a fossil of itself
to less than a memory

of sap rising, here
in the palm of my hand

both real and imagined
like an open gate to the sea

what lies beyond
what I want to believe is there

Why

Sometimes the things that don't make sense make sense: a face in a rock, another rock cracked open with the letter Y. My question before I knew I had a question, here now between shoreline and cliff. I find another to fit into the palm of my hand: an answer.

Criccieth, North Wales
12th July 2018

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