Julia Prescott did a degree in Archaeology and Anthropology long ago and has been hooked ever since. Nowadays she is mostly a painter when she is not writing. Poems have appeared in various magazines and anthologies – most recently in the anthology Musings on Mothering edited by Teika Bellamy and in the Mother's Milk Books Writing Prize Anthology 2013. She has a pamphlet, Between Venus, the Moon and the Apple Tree, published by Shed Press.
Today is your day, the day you died
four years ago. A soft October day
it holds its breath, partly lost in mist.
Distance unfolds in pale hints and hesitations,
understated hills and fields, towards the horizon,
stretching all the way to sharp Schiehallion.
I am the one haunting these places today -
rocks, beach, cliffs - where you used to roam -
past your house (how large your fuchsia bush has grown).
All is quiet and still today - the sea is full
high tide, calm, but a threatening swell
heaves beneath the surface.
A buzzard, flying low, lands and eyes me
from the fence post, lifts and swoops again
over grazing cows and sheep.
I planned to scatter part of you today
but, undecided where, I take you home again -
remembering Isabella and her pot of basil.