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.
Grey…. I am not sure about this…….it’s more a pewter, but dull….
dull ……. oh…. so ….. dull…..”Dull as ditch water”, a grump riddled parent used to bark…… not about the weather, but about some creative piece I had written or drawn……
Dull – as – ditch – water………
I remember winters then. I remember snowdrifts, sledges, being pulled, but being scared, snowballs in the face ….. getting frozen toes and jolly red cheeks…..soaking wet socks, the crisp nakedness of undisturbed fallen snow; where has it all gone?
oh, how I loved winter, then.
It’s this grey….. this grey that hangs around like a splodge of badly mixed paints, looming, ready to tip all over my world… but it never happens….. not today anyway…… it’s just grey……
Like my mood: incubating….. not dull, no…….never that.
I see you….
in the mist across the field
at dew time, emerging light time….
you with the flickering sunbeam in your hands
which weaves and mends soft threadbare hearts.
I see you are connected to me
eternal, timeless, pulsating Light.
PASSION was in the trees today….
how they crashed and bashed around
being shaken by high winds….
the winds of focus and intent,
unapologetic for raping branches and twigs,
leaving them quite bare and staccato like.
Golden, bronzed leaves came
flying horizontally through the air
like flat stones skipping on the tide,
as folk stumbled in and out of parked cars
like Lowery’s stickmen,
facelessly leaning into the wind.
I needed air….. I flung wide the windows
and let late Autumn blow its way through
and out, back up into the dappled sky…….
There is passion in my house tonight….
the wind came calling my name today
and has left his heart with me ………..
It seems they enjoyed them…
the sweet peas which actually,
I didn’t buy for them.
I never do you see
for selfishly, I thought I would
enjoy them myself.
Shocked I was…. stunned
with jaw dropped, seeing that they
had actually stripped me bare
of all I had hope for…. overnight.
Let there be no mistaking why
this village is called SNAILWELL!!!