Threshing Around

There's a lovely view through one of the windows of the SAC at work (that's the sort of canteen area.) It's of a garden, but not of the English style. Sort of orientally jungly, in the nicest possible sense. I often sit facing it, supping my tea and thinking zen-like thoughts.

Yesterday I noticed, really noticed, just how much movement there was in the trees out there. They appeared a good deal more animated than I felt. I don't think their movement had ever quite registered with me before, but their collective dance held me hypnotised for a good ten minutes or so - long enough for me to finish the tea, anyway.

I was reminded of a couple of favourite lines of mine from Larkin's The Trees: Yet still the unresting castles thresh / In full grown thickness every May. Of course, these trees weren't castles in any sense, and it's not May, but who needs excuses for recalling great lines? And I further decided that I'd read Larkin's Collected Poems from cover to cover which I'm now about to do - well, make a start, that is.

And I further reflected upon the fact that Larkin himself was, from all accounts, quite an awful sort of fellow. Sad, but in a nasty way. It's a funny thing, beauty. It can emerge in the most unexpected of places.