Late Summer. Scilly Isles 14. Written by Richard Alan Gardham. Transcribed by Angela Gardham

It’s late summer now, what was once short has grown tall – lots of seeds among flowers. A roof has appeared. It’s been a long time since I was around here. The grasses are dry an’ paling. Brambles turning -soon be ready to produce its black fruit. Two white butterflies swirling, jerking together, then they landed and stopped dead still, then they’re off again, tumbling and turning. The lichens have turned bright yellow as they grow on the shelly concrete posts. There’s lots of red berries waiting for time to turn them black. Two green glass flies glitter on a turd that’s surrounded by little violet flowers.

There’s a man laying out sunbathing in a clearing among the ferns – funny because the sun’s not out. The hay maker went slashing by with his scythe an’ all the thistles have gone down too.

A slender blonde girl paddles up to her thighs in the clear glittering water. She sits down and playfully kicks, making little hollows around her feet. Her mother calls out, she obediently rises and makes her way back to where her mother is. Over there is a young man combing his hair in the middle of this beautiful green field. A father and child stand daringly on a huge rock an’ look out to sea. The boy sets out over the rocks as agile as a fly, the father taking it a bit slower as he takes off trying to keep up with his young son.

The slender blonde girl flirts from a long way away, her mother lays sunbathing behind a rock. The scents and smells lift the roof off my nostrils, soft and supple limbs cloud the eyes, the feet walk over crisp straw.

A crop has been lifted giving an atmosphere of work done: the poppies are still fresh and red, washing on the line, clean and dry, three women come towards me with a brand-new pram, a butterfly flips over the back of a jersey cow, its udder very full. It looked at me then gave a loud and long moooo, then it strolled up the field its full udder being an’ inconvenience to its walk. A young boy with two bikes steering the other while riding his own. “ In’t tha satisfied wi one bike then?” “T’others not mine, it’s Flynns”. The clicking of the free wheel faded away as he shot down the hill. A black horse scratches it’s side against the stone wall. There was a lovely black and white moth dying on the ground. It was beautiful. I noticed these ants all around so I stamped on it.