Icelandic Poppies and Black Bamboo from my Garden.
After years of chucking poppy seeds about the garden in the vain hope that they would take, suddenly a plethora of them appeared. It took years of nothing growing there. Now they last from Spring until late Autumn in this sun trap and bring a burst of colour and happiness to the garden, whatever the weather.
This Beach, The One
The first real one that you ever visited.
With it’s sandy spot, where you took off your shoes and pushed your feet into the cool sand.
Where you carefully navigated the section with the smooth pebbles trying not to find a crab or jellyfish.
The swimming pools, where you paddled with friends.
The beautiful views, never ending water, reaching for miles.
The boats bobbing and swaying on the tide.
The mud flats when the tide had gone out,
One of many children searching for crabs.
Beachcombing, to see what can be found.
Kiosks selling ice creams, or chips and the smell wafting along the promenade.
Friendly dogs running up to say Hello and share a picnic.
Sandcastles and random artwork, left for someone else to find.
Listening to the waves, crashing against the breakers.
The trains rumbling past, shattering the peace and quiet.
The seagulls swooping and squawking investigating the remnants of the day.
This Beach,
The one you used to play on when you were ten years old and had just moved close to.
The one you were baptised right out in the open air in the swimming pool, followed by a Barbeque with all your friends from church. A celebration of your life given to God.
The one you used to walk to as a teenager, when you needed to think when you thought you were broken hearted.
The one you bunked off from school to walk to, since it was just far enough away for you not to be found.
The one where you watched the windsurfers and the beach bums and toasted your skin for hours, working on your tan.
The one where you sat and sobbed, when it was all too much for you.
The one where you yelled at the top of your voice, when you felt that things were unjust.
The one where you met your boyfriends, years apart.
The one where you had parties on the beach, listening to your favourite tunes.
The one where you used to meet your friends.
The one where you used to sit on the wall to look at the boys.
The one where you walked your dogs,
The one where you met your current love.
The one where you walked hand in hand with him.
This Beach,
Is also the one where he used to go to think. His favourite beach, where he had sat in the same places, done some of the same things and for years and you had just missed each other. The one where on that day, years later the time was right and walking back from the beach, you met, talked for hours, arranged to meet again and began to fall in love and your story began.
This is Rummage.
I’m not sure how you may feel about visiting Mice in the workplace, but in a place which was close to fields, quiet and where I worked alone quite often sometimes it was nice to see another being joining me as I worked late into the night. At the time I used to average around 50 hours per week working until the job was done, my colleagues were part time. This little mouse used to appear, just before dark, it being a nocturnal creature by nature, it probably assumed that I was invading it’s space. I would work at my desk and suddenly a little rustle would be heard usually in the waste paper bin next to the desk. I had to think of a name for him and Rummage suited him perfectly I thought.
I must admit, I was quite alarmed when he first appeared. (I am only assuming that it was a he) I think that is just human nature, but thought that if I didn’t create a fuss and left him to his own devices, then he wouldn’t cause me any harm. This arrangement worked for us and I kind of looked forward to seeing him. I do love animals and used to keep hamsters and gerbils as pets. Of course, it usually goes that if there is one mouse, you will usually find more, especially when there is food about although I only ever saw this one mouse. My colleagues, were not great at clearing up after their feeding frenzy, so there was always something for him to find. He was quite blatant, into the bin, eat his fill, then running up the back of the wires and suddenly pop out of the drawers in front of me as I typed, sitting there washing after his snack, and watching me with interest.
Of course, it was game over when someone else saw him, shrieking all over the place and a trap was set to catch him. They were certain we must be overrun with Mice. I wanted it to be a humane trap so that he could be released, however I was overruled and Rummage was soon despatched to the next life, I missed our regular evening encounter.
A storm is brewing, keep things close at hand.
The woods gently sing their quiet song.
The wind is blowing across the top along the land,
Begins it’s low howl it resonates deep and long.
Building itself up, as though to make an entrance,
Bending trees along the way, start to sway and dance.
Reaching it‘s crescendo thunder crashing through the hills,
A dramatic drum roll there it’s mad frenzy sending chills.
Hurling itself up before swirling around the ledges,
Nature singing out from the safety of the hedges,
Cattle calling across the way, invisible in the mist.
Lovers lost to it’s emotions, meeting for their tryst.
Eerily silent once again, this weather is a curse,
before tinkling raindrops signal the next verse.
Thoughts are stirred up taking you right back,
For a moment, you temporarily sidetrack.
Lost up there in music, a world away from your own,
As they rest again exhausted, the hills will sigh and moan.
This is the music of the hills,
Pay close attention to how it feels,
Of all things fierce and good.
Played out by the Orchestra of the Wood.
In My Baby’s Eyes.
There is such wisdom, he sees so much. He is constantly learning, surprising me with what he knows. I would never have imagined the fun that we would have since he arrived in our lives. Life will never be the same again, he has touched our hearts. He is there, to love unconditionally, when I have felt that the world hated me, there to comfort me when I have been sick or sad. He keeps me safe, when we are worried and has steered us away from danger. He is not as trusting as I am and is a pretty good judge of character. He has a wonderful singing voice and will tell you what is on his mind. He is large, but can be so gentle.
He is our furry son, my mother’s Grand-dog and a beloved part of our existence that makes us more of a family. He is achingly handsome as an animal and beautiful as a person, which he is convinced that he is. He has his likes and dislikes just as anyone does and a level of nonsense that makes us adore him all the more. We think that he is special, he certainly is to us.
She bought me this gift, a witches ball.
Just when she got it, I don’t quite recall.
It remained so long in the box,
Found it again when looking for socks,
Put it to the back of the cupboard for sure,
Hadn’t a clue of the things in store.
It is said that you fill the vessel with scent,
It sends spirits away, they came and went.
Hanging up there in the light,
They can’t get in, try as they might.
They bounce off the window, tumble and fall
It offers me protection from them all.
It brought a pivotal change in my life,
When I found out it was made in Fife.
Not far from where we go off to hide,
Off up there in the countryside.
The place where our thoughts we gather,
Oh to be there, whatever the weather.
A place which has me bewitched,
The life I have here would be switched.
Off where future thoughts are rife,
Where we have a different life.
To when where I can make and toil,
A home, with soft garden soil.
Where things will grow, be abundant,
Herbs and foods, self sufficient.
Well my friend, she knows me well
As she weaved her magic spell.
Around the space it would drape,
As the dreams began to shape.
The places about they’d start to drift,
As they began a momentous shift.
To create someone refreshed anew,
Stopping to sip in this unusual brew.
Perhaps a life was better spent,
Doing the thing of which you’ve dreamt
Herbs and spices in the mix,
You think she’s up to her old tricks.
On a journey and make haste,
In to the country you have chased.
Now and then her power to surge.
A moment to Thank her for the urge.
A well thought gift that she would send,
Protecting me, her very dear friend.
Ultra Violet Florist, Spring Display. Lille, France.
byindiablue 