The Music of The Hills

6 (6)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.

The Daily Post – The Music of The Hills

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The Spiral Staircase

The Daily Post – Stairway

I am not quite sure when it became apparent to me, but one of my lasting memories as a child was the recurring dream.  I dreaded it’s arrival as I felt so out of control when it happened. The dream itself took on so many forms over the years, but always somewhere at some point in there was a spiral, almost like being in a vacuum somehow, being pulled always backwards downward as though on a spiral staircase.  Although it would always start slowly, as time went on, it would then drag me way too fast and I was powerless to stop it.  The sick dizzy feeling that going backwards fast can give you somehow remained with me once I had awoken.  I was very small when it happened for the first time.  In adult life, both physically and emotionally, I don’t like going backwards, I refuse to travel backwards on a train, it messes with my senses, gives me a headache and makes me dizzy again, bringing back that old familiar dreamlike feeling.  I also dislike not making progress however small, since I am naturally impatient and have to curb that sometimes, it seems to be a driving force.  Static is almost as bad as the backward spiral and I continue to fight against them both.

Hurly Burly

Thinking of the Hurly burly,
In my brain when I’m due up early.
No rhymes have come for almost a week,
This is not exactly like counting sheep.
Lay me down again you know,
That this is the moment, it starts to flow.
But by way of recompense,
It kind of makes perfect sense.
The brain is busy, the fever gone
And into my room, the bright moon shone.
Waiting for my head to burst,
As I quench the writers’ thirst.
I will write in present tense,
There is no form of defence.
Emotions out and feeling weak,
No chance for me to even speak.
At the end I must concur,
That the night becomes a blur.
It seems as though it’s been an age,
Since writing words on the blank page.
Lack of sleep, Oh what fun
As often, off my mind will run.
A free spirit, don’t try to tame
As it plays this silly game.
Feelings deep, behind the eyes,
Not the time to criticize.
Rest a while as you lament,
When you suffer this torment.
The lights are out, the room is black,
There really is no turning back.
Your own fault, who lit the fuse,
Don’t hold them back there is no use.
Hope the words will come out right,
When I’m awake half the night.
Feelings will come into play,
If I awake at break of day.

Living the Wild

It seems that we have the getaways again. Oh dear, Scotland is calling us loud and clear. To be fair to it, we should have been there again by now, it is waiting for us. We had plans, but due to illness we are waiting until our health has improved, since it can be pretty bleak up on the hill. So at the moment, we try to satisfy our cravings for the scenery and beauty, with any hope of a Scottish view or voice via the television. Yes, we are most definitely homesick until we arrive there for this years piece of the puzzle. It has been four months since we last visited, but seems like forever. That almost felt like “It has been four months since my last confession”, but I am not of the Catholic faith and so it has been a lot longer than that…

The other evening we watched it again, Ben Fogle’s series New Lives in the Wild UK, we had seen this particular episode last year, but I had no hesitation in watching it again to drink in the scenery. It documented the life on Fair Isle, Scotland of Tommy Hyndman, who moved there from the USA around ten years or so ago. You simply have to admire Tommy for getting stuck in there and making it work. We have learned that it is not always easy to integrate into a new community but he seems to have got the mix just right there. Having taken on a guest house, named The Auld Haa, he seems to be running it with some success and I wish him much more. It was not only a crofter’s cottage, but is also his home and he chooses to share it with travellers worldwide, thus enriching his life with experiences and also earning him a living. It appears from this program, that the welcoming home and atmosphere of his surroundings, would rest the heart of any weary traveller who set foot there. Fair Isle is a birdwatchers haven, as well as being known for it’s wonderful sweaters but for anyone looking for a get away from it all and back to nature vacation, away from the hustle and bustle, it looks like the ideal spot.

We were naturally in awe of Tommy’s Studio, he get’s to rent the lighthouse and that alone would have us flocking there, but I think there is probably already a long queue should he ever decide to vacate it.
I personally cannot think of a more inspirational workspace in which to write, but I’m pretty sure that given the chance, I would find huge inspiration there.

My partner used to skipper a weekend fishing boat and has always been a seafaring Bear and I know that he misses being out on the water. Me, well I would live on a diet of fish if he‘d let me. The size of the Lobsters that he and Ben caught on camera, had me positively drooling at the thought.

At the end of it all, I hope that Tommy finds love with a strong woman who can cope with the demands of Island Life and who will throw herself into it headlong with him and make him truly happy. It seems as though it is the only thing he lacks in his life.

Following the program, my partner asked me to look up property for sale on the Island, he had missed the bit where it was owned by the National Trust of Scotland but, there must be other beautiful Scottish islands right? I should explain myself. I love looking at property, I have always wanted to find and own a property portfolio all over the place, but have not yet been able to raise the finance for this particular dream. I also think that I would be hesitant to let any of it go, so would be constantly moving from one place to another. But I regularly look to see what is out there. A quick search brings up a place called Sanday, It was beautiful and for offers around £120,000 I found a 2 bed farm with 30 acres leading down to the sea for sale. Imagination fired once again, what sort of life could we live in a place like that! However the reality of a Scottish Island for two people with arthritis, would be far different of course, I think the climate would make us miserable especially in the winter months, but the beauty of such a place never fails to tug at the heart and fire the imagination. There’s always a holiday though…
Living the Wild,

Watching a great series on television,
On how some people have made it their mission
On how to let their dreams run wild,
They celebrate their inner child.
Look at Tommy, he’s been blessed
Found a place where sea birds nest.
In the lighthouse, held aloft
Views to sea, or over his croft.
Wild winds, emotional Scottish weather,
Howl and tease amongst the heather.
But when the day is clear and calm,
Can’t fail to notice, it has it’s charm.
A place that’s known as Fair Isle
Where special sweaters are made with style.
Family businesses weaving the yarn,
Made to measure in house and barn
Tommy has lived there making his way,
Day in and day out come what may.
Could walk for miles without a trace,
But never alone in this wonderful place.
A workshop where he will create,
Livestock will roam, so close the gate.
Community living, you’d earn your keep,
When you’re out on the moor tending the sheep.
The guesthouse he runs is called the Auld Haa,
Impossible to travel there just by car.
Stopping to spot an unusual bird,
Trek the fields, with the herd.
Walking and painting that’s the trick,
Plenty to see for the romantic.
Nooks and crannies in which to play,
While children while away their day.
The Craggy cliff face can be sheer,
But hold on tight nothing to fear.
Shoes off, to get your toes in the sand.
Off by plane back to the mainland.
Out to sea by boat to get fish,
More time spent here is your wish.
As Tommy cooks a fabulous dinner.
This has to be your holiday winner.
Open your arms in your dreams you’re hurled
With it all to see, you’re on top of the world.

The Tangled Web

Thinks of the things that she may write,
Sweet dreams to come into her night.
Emotions are often there in tatters,
Like the glass of a mirror it shatters.
Falling at once upon the floor,
Leaving her staring, wanting more.
Sometimes I will think of the things I deny,
And how to musings, myself I’ll apply.
What a wonderful web we tangle,
When you can see it from every angle.
Not trying ever to deceive,
Is what we strive to achieve.

The Brain Dump, Where does it come from?

It’s been happening again, what can only be referred to as a Brain Dump. Every once in a while, my head feels like what happens to a computer, right when there is a blue screen and it begins a crash dump.
Hopefully at this point your disk drive doesn’t fry aswell. On occasions it has, that is NOT a metaphor. It has actually happened. Note to self, I may need some new technology.

Meanwhile, for those who are blissfully unaware, the brain dump wakes you up, but not quite. So you feel that you are sleeping, but you are actually aware of your surroundings.

It starts to dispose of random things in your head, clearing out what may, or may not be rubbish and you are not in control of what it may select. At times, I have found it rather disturbing, since you never know when it is coming your way, how long it may last and sometimes, there will be a real gem in there, which afterwards will be gone forever. You see, you are not awake enough to write it down, or record your thought in any way, it remains totally illogical, a collection of random thoughts which go through your head and upon fully waking you cannot recall most of it.

I noticed previously, that it used to happen most on a Saturday morning, when I did not have to rise early for work, and arrived usually in the early hours after a particularly stressful week. At times, it has given me the freedom from upset, a release from a distressing situation, which up to that point my have been ruling me. Other times, it can be memories from the past, which have returned to haunt or delight. I usually feel refreshed after this happens, but I cannot help but wonder how many people get it. In conversation with a lady who is a counsellor a while ago, she told me it might be my way getting rid of things which I cannot cope with. I rather think that it is a coping mechanism, but it has only manifested in the last couple of years.

Since last week was a prolific time for my writing things, I am hopeful that what spurred me on to write, was not short-lived and so must not allow my fears to conquer me. Tomorrow is another week and with it, brings new thoughts, experiences and excitement.

So, where does it come from? Answers, on a postcard, email, or comment. I’d love to be enlightened.

Inspiration? Carpe diem.

IMG_1079 As a fledgling writer I’m consciously aware of the effects of my writing upon those around me, as well as being concerned as to how things are received. The latter being probably what stopped me for so long. Since when I write my poetry it can arrive at the most inopportune moment and I have to get it down on paper, like opening a flood gate, or turning on a tap I do not wish to interrupt the flow, in case I lose it. Of course, I can return to it later to edit it, but , I do tend to write it as soon as it arrives.

I am often found scampering from the shower, drenched in a towel to get to a notepad and write something down, which would look rather odd to the fly on the wall. I probably should keep an etch a sketch in there or something, which doesn’t get wet when you write on it, I have several crinkly notebooks now.

I have pulled over when driving around on my way somewhere, or returning from a particular place or situation and I also tend to use the voice recorder on my phone if I cannot write it down at that moment.

At times this has me sitting up late into the night or waking up in the early hours, with the light on, writing on a shorthand notebook which I keep by the bed. Of course this can easily disturb others within the home. Last night it was the dog and I did not want to disturb him since yesterday he had been unwell, he huffs around and blows my concentration and is restless for the remainder of the night and grouchy the next day.

So, last night this resulted in my writing in the dark as things came to me in the early hours of this morning. I am getting used to the effects upon my sleep pattern of writing and thankfully am able to rest after I‘ve got it all out of my system, but at times, that has taken hours and I find myself giving up on sleep and tired the next day. As a very small child I used to read in the dark if I couldn‘t sleep after lights out, with a teddy bear under the covers, I used to save my pocket money to buy small torches which could not be seen. I remember being out with Mum once and she asked why I wanted a torch, I told her it was “for kissing bears under the covers.”

But until last night I had forgotten how exhilarating writing in the dark can be, of course your handwriting is different to in your waking hours, you might be half asleep, dragged from your slumber by random words, or phrases. It flows all over the page words sometimes running into each other and will not follow the lines, wiggling uncontrollably. Sometimes, you will even misspell the words as you write them, if awoken you might not recall where in the word you had got to. In the morning, upon review you will see that your writing differs greatly, you are trying to space the lines more carefully so that they don’t run into each other, and you can’t actually see what is on the page. But, I found that my senses were heightened and my thoughts clearer, a host of words which I have not tended to use before, came to me and appeared on the pages.

Last night my thoughts were racing, three separate subjects came to me and would not leave. So I have the basis at least for a few new pieces, plus a brainstorming word page.

So if you haven’t already tried this and are looking for inspiration, do not put it to the back of your mind when it strikes, I recommend that you Seize the Day, or moment actually!