‘…and then the first goose
rouses, behind their gate in the wall –
she calls, yammers, and like fires
they catch and cackle. They wake
the very stones. They fluff
their feathers, unbend their necks…’
Last week I drove up to Acton Scott on empty roads to meet photographer poet Andrew Fusek Peters at 7am. The early morning birdsong was the loudest thing in the landscape as we walked onto the farm before anyone else arrived.
The idea was that Andrew would take photographs while I wrote, and that we’ll collaborate on whatever we produce.
The still loveliness of Acton Scott on an early summer morning was marvellous. Low sun lit the soft brick of the 18th century farmyard.
We woke the geese as we walked into the yard – Merle (the stockwoman) told me they’ve always been kept at night in a stone-lined space deep in the wall, and right by the gate in all likelihood as deliberate early warning of intruders. They set up a huge racket, right on cue, and Andrew took the wonderful photo above. I’m working on a poem (extract above).
He took lots more photos, and I’m working on lots more poems. We plan an exhibition!