The Gift of Days

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I am sitting here in my pocket-sized garden in the dappled light of late afternoon sun. It is Good Friday, April 10th, 2020. I am three weeks into lockdown, due to COVID 19 running wild on the planet. There is but a little breeze, as a sleepy black cat lies deep in front of the doorway, moving only occasionally, stirred by a barking dog, a yelling crow, or the banging of dishes indoors, in the kitchen. I am strategically sat within a space where no one can spy me….. my seven years old me grins inside…. She doesn’t want to be found just now, regardless of who might want her for this or that, nicking bits out of her flesh, like hungry corvids, just to get to, and feast on the abundance of her bones.

 

I’m pulled out of my drifting mind by green nets of seaweed catching my thoughts, then tossing them nonchalantly into the brine and slime of weed and fish…..

Silvery shimmering strands of light seep gently through this knight’s tousled hair… Sweat upon his lips, syllables upon his tongue, a longing deep within his muscles, a knowing in his Wise & Sacred Heart

 

I have so many things I want to do… so many loves I want to squeeze and tussle and tumble in grass with ….. create a treehouse and dyeing my magnificent knickers to make the flag…. And the sign,’Owl’s Hoot’ outside my den….. and I, the twenty-first century Rapunzel, high up in my tree of Spring-green leaves and sticky buds, will dangle the plaited scars my life over the edge of this bower…… Soon he will come to the roots of my ancestral tree, and there …. Oh – and – there… he shall soft noises make, until the sound of life itself, the Om of time and space, resonates within the fibres of my heart.

Namaste

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