When Loved Ones Revisit. 

I don’t know if you believe that loved ones who have moved on to another life visit you to remind you from time to time. I am a firm believer in this. The Robin who appears every day singing its little heart out on the hill whenever we are there. Who first appeared when we scattered some of Kato’s ashes in his favourite spot. It always comes to see us in front of the house, singing loudly to announce its arrival. This year it showed us its new baby, just as we did. We showed it ours and it returned daily whilst we were there. 
Yesterday was the year anniversary of my last accident. When a wonderful surgeon spent three hours stitching my face back together after going off duty. For which I will be eternally grateful. She did a wonderful job. Quite often you can barely make out the scars, the skin has healed very well. I am still working on the emotional ones. It takes time.

Then one year ago today we lost our beloved Kato. It broke our hearts a day we will never forget when we had to say Goodbye. We have been grieving for a year. Yesterday we were talking about him. We often do because we talk about most things and it helps us both. 

As we spoke of him suddenly we were joined in the garden by the most enormous and beautiful dragonfly we have ever seen it was four inches long and just as wide, you couldn’t miss it as it flew over us.

Now dragonflies are known as reminders of loved ones who have passed away.

The dragonfly swooped around in front of us both and swirled around our heads. Roki stood up and barked, which is unusual for him and went over to where it stopped to take a look. It landed on the honeysuckle right where Kato saved the baby bird by letting me know it had fallen from its nest and was trapped in the branches and made sure that I rescued it and set it free.

The dragonfly sat there for about five minutes. It was larger than life and close up it looked black and white with silvery wings. Of course it was. It embodied everything that Kato was in that sentence.

It made me quite emotional to see it. Touched by this thing of beauty. I went inside to get my phone to see if I could get a photo of it, it took a while to see it sitting there camouflaged in the bush but look closely on the middle of the bush as I did to get this photo and you will see it. After I spoke to it, it flew skywards. I prayed that it would have a safe journey and return to me. 

I am sharing with you again today my poem Butterflies and Dragonflies written last year, a short while after he passed away.

https://indiablue.co.uk/2016/09/03/butterflies-dragonflies/

So Easily Distracted.

I am not quite sure exactly when this happened.  When I became so easily distracted that clambering into the shower with my glasses on became the norm or at least a regular occurrence.  Is it a writer thing? I silently ask myself, or am I simply losing my marbles…

Who has the answer to that one…  But I did it again today! Sure it helps for a moment or two if you happen to be using a razor, to enable you to see those places clearly, but sooner rather than later, the glasses steam up.

It is not confined to steamy glasses at all, if only it were. I often find myself returning to a place to remember what it was that I was thinking of before, maybe it’s just a sign that I am getting older, although worryingly I have done this for years and I’m not that old!  You know that point when you are standing in the exact point of a room where you thought of something before you actually headed off to do it.

I  hope that I have not become so wrapped up in myself that I am unaware of what goes on around me.  I don’t think this is the case, since I am more than aware of the family’s needs and they will never allow that to change and it would give me yet another thing to dislike about myself (and I’m trying to cut down on those, not add to them).  Have I put my own actual needs aside to pursue my goal, of finally achieving something for myself, instead of what has been expected of me in the past?

At times, my partner has told me it seems to have become an obsession of mine, to write the things down that go through my head.  He has also intimated that this is a bad thing, although of course I beg to differ.  I cannot explain the need to do this, other than to enable me to come out the other side of whatever goes in in my sometimes muddled brain and work things out. He also tells me that I have “a butterfly mind” one which flits between subjects.  This is not to be mistaken as a low attention span, for I can go back to the original subject, thus proving that I was in fact listening all along, which never ceases to surprise him. I can even repeat what he just said too, usually when he thinks he doesn’t have my attention.

But I wish I wasn’t feeling quite so distracted at the moment. It makes me worry at what other important things I might miss.

The Fighter

Although this was not actually written about the great man himself, it was more a generalisation about the process. But,  with the sad passing of another legend Muhammad Ali I thought that I would post this today.  RIP to the greatest boxer a true fighter and the reminder to “Float Like a Butterfly, Sting like a Bee”

Think for a moment of the fighter.
Promoted his future will be much brighter,
He’s training for his very next bout,
But during this he doesn’t shout.
Can’t guess from the shape he’s in,
But this guy is determined to win.
Not sure he’s Bantam or Welter weight,
Can’t tell exactly from his gait.
Nutrition and fitness are his loves,
Dressed in shorts and his gloves.

The date arrives he behaves with bravado,
Showing the world he‘s no desperado.
His belief in himself as he will rise,
Willing his opponent to meet his demise.
Thinking of all of the money he’ll make,
If he’s prepared and what risks to take.
What he’ll do is calculated,
His form and result to be debated.
The time has come to grace the stage.
Experience will show with his age.
The effort he’ll give with all his might,
The victor he’ll be this very night.
With Herculean effort he’ll fight to the last
A case filled with trophies of the past.