Sitting in front of open fire,
hand supporting MacBook Pro
balancing on arm of chair….
From a crashing, like breaking glass
I wake from my cosy oblivion…..
Only a dozey voice in my head screams;
laptop splayed out on the carpetless floor
is undamaged, yet sits like a
stunned baby, unsure where he is.
Miracles every moment,
all around us……
Water into wine?
Flying laptops unharmed?
They certainly do.
December Twenty Sixth
Hissing is winter music
when logs oooze energy
on open fire fires…
Mulled wine is fitting
as temperatures drop when
Jack comes leering at windows,
creeping and seeping in through
nineteenth century crannies,
curling his icy digits around ankles and toes.
How can it be that yesterday,
buterflies flitted around Christmas merriment
and today I am curled under blankets?
Could it that winter is acomin’ in, at last?
I feel perhaps I should explain this Small Stone today….. I used to love the crazy busyness of Christmas when I was younger. Now, all I really want is music and dear friends….. the excesses just fill me with despair inside; I just want to live quietly, knowing I am enough and my little world is enough and that all on this planet know what it is to have and be enough.
The Thing We Call Christmas
I notice excess on every level
but mostly energetically….
thoughts crashing
like nuts in a grinder…..
I catch myself
breathless in the panic
as if invasion is occuring
as some old, inner animal of mine
wants another bite of me….
Wise one takes charge
and the primal ceases its screaming.
It’s to be out of the madness,
back into oneself ….
Why would any sane person want anything else?
A sofa –
that’s what it took
to get me out of the darkness
and into the bright light of day…..
A sofa –
moved, not with ease,
though a mind which can
think round corners, literally,
my saving grace…..
…. I never knew the sky
could be so blue
or that cirrus clouds,
like emotional mists of smoke,
washing my eyes…
could bring such relief….
What a move!
Very cold morning
my body ‘Goose bumps’ and shivers…..
car white with sleek patterened frost.
Fields a grey-green glimmering, shimmering light….
Skies shining – airy crispness singing…..
Golden beech leaves hanging on
like jewels dangling in the wintery light.
I layer up, pull on my boots
as I listen to a Reith lecture on
the ‘great unfixables’ –
ageing and death.
Perhaps we look too hard to
avoid ‘the big dying’
for Nature’s wisdom knows
regeneration comes.
There is no end but only
the cycles of the Natural world…..
So, I see Spring when I look into
this icy day and say:
“YES…. This is how it is for me…..”
Inheritance
The rolling of the rain
shattering the silence
on muddy windowpanes….
Fire embers glowing hot & red
while bare feet stamp
defiantely on their way to bed.
Once she knew, or thought she did,
of where the code on how to live,
was hid….
Yet now, mellow lines within
her ageing skin,
carry the stories of
of her kith and kin …..
Like rain on dirty glass
is never to be truly clean
so the tears which flow,
tumbling, quietly down between
the voices in her scrambled mind,
always, she would know,
her roots are never to be left behind.
When I weep,
don’t feel you
have to wipe away
these salty tears.
Being formed by
experiences of Life,
they turn to ctystal drops
as they fall from my eyes,
then I can see.
What gifts are these my friends,
what gifts indeed………
BubblingWordClouds 