Medicinalmeadows

Ever-unfolding


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The Forest…..storytelling in a modern world

 

This is a repost of a blog from a while back….now the story continues. I have finished  the journey, a metaphor and metaphysical story……so far. Please check back next week for part two….

Thank you for stopping by..

jungleLoneliness is an interesting feeling. Out here I never felt so alone. I followed the river and the water mesmerised my vision as if it was being siphoned into a spiralling hole underneath my gaze. My feet sunk into the dark wet mud. The cold covered the skin like small cuts of a knife into the flesh and the colour of my skin was no more than of bone. The iced feeling chilled every part of me. Legs to torso, to jaw to scalp, all rattling like an old escalator, but going nowhere.

The rain bulleted from the darkest of skies. It filtered through branches, leaves exponentially poured onto my shoulder then stopped, wittingly collecting again awaiting to restart. My hair was heavy, eyes cloudy, as my forehead drained upon my face and my chin streamed a river of water onto my chest. I posed with knees together, fists together but no warmth exulted from this angle of arms into breast. Here in the mud, the moment, I was frozen.

My clothes tightly wrapped around legs and arms as the cold cloth stained into my body unmoveable. The fall sustained further back had splattered earth to my hands and face that bit into flesh. The shoes lay somewhere cemented into the ground on the path, so bare feet chilled into bone, to marrow.

I couldn’t hear birds call, or traffic nearby nor human – animal movements due to hissing of the rain. Foolish to venture these muddy paths of riveted blackness, stoops and drains like treacle. No saviour will come this way, I and only I can make my way out of this dissented climate. I have been here too long. A lift of foot, a step, a bleeding pained first step is required just one, just rise and step away.

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WordPress Photo Challenge: Muse

This weeks photo challenge states “What subject keeps you coming back? This week, show us your muse“.  This is not a difficult task.  I have one location that I constantly return to for photographs.  I have been visiting this stretch of beach since I was a child and now I return each time to sit and wait for the sunset.


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The Forest

And the story continues…..

This is a repost of a blog from a while back….now the story continues. Check back next week for part two….

Thank you for stopping by..

jungleLoneliness is an interesting feeling. Out here I never felt so alone. I followed the river and the water mesmerised my vision as if it was being siphoned into a spiralling hole underneath my gaze. My feet sunk into the dark wet mud. The cold covered the skin like small cuts of a knife into the flesh and the colour of my skin was no more than of bone. The iced feeling chilled every part of me. Legs to torso, to jaw to scalp, all vividly rattling along as if on an old escalator, but going nowhere.

The rain bulleted from the darkest of skies. It filtered through branches, leaves exponentially poured like from a reservoir onto my shoulder then stopped, wittingly collecting again awaiting to restart. My hair was heavy, eyes cloudy, as my forehead drained upon my face and my chin streamed a river of water onto my chest. I posed with knees together, fists together but no warmth exulted from this angle of arms into breast. Here in the wet, the mud, the moment, I was frozen.

My clothes tightly wrapped around legs and arms as the cold cloth stained into my body unmoveable. The fall sustained further back had splattered earth to my hands and face that bit into flesh. The shoes lay somewhere cemented into the ground on the path, so bare feet chilled into bone, to marrow to freeze blood.

I couldn’t hear birds call, or traffic nearby nor human – animal movements due to hissing of the rain. Foolish to venture these muddy paths of riveted blackness, stoops and drains of ground like treacle. No saviour will come this way, I and only I can make my way out of this dissented climate. I have been here too long. A lift of foot, a step, a bleeding pained first step is required just one, just rise and step away.


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Weekly Writing Challenge: Valentine

It seemed appropriate for this Weekly Writing Challenge for me
to share a previous post for the theme of St. Valentine’s Day.
I posted this in December but it seems more relevant for the
February 14th.

Haiku – Flower

dahlia

Hope is in a bud
A flower unfolds to love
Blossoms to dream of

The petals unroll
Like a story to be told
Like a fan unfolds

Elements display
Thought, and message to convey
That words can not say

(Image from Google images)

 


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Weekly Writing Challenge – 23rd December 1993

snow lamp

It wasn’t a problem we were left there together. Two young student nurses trapped in our large old fashioned stone museum of nurses’ past. Just two compared to the noise, the door slamming, music and TV of the usual 100 under one roof.

They all departed by parents’ cars, taxis and bus to return to their homes for the Christmas holidays. All an hours ride home from our Hospital. Just us two, that lived further than an hour’s travel were left. Our journey was the next day, but as we sat at the large window looking down we wondered what we would be doing on the 24rd December. We watched as the snow drifted down. The snowflakes turned to blankets of white cotton, as the ground was covered over in one drape. Everything that was once familiar, the paths to the roads, the rose beds along the driveways, the iron grates to the drains, all disappears to one perfect covering, like glistening white marble.

No entrance path or exit was visible as the tall mast of a street light blinkered and lit. Our home now an island and the two of us desolate within the darkened corridors above the white sea below. Tomorrow’s journey was far more thwart with chance. As the elements now determined our fate, we were at the will of the weather.

Our evening ahead did not fill us with trepidation and worry. Instead we settled on as many cushions and pillows as we could pile up.  We gathered our provisions from parcels delivered earlier that week, homemade Christmas cake, mince pies, Stolen, all sent from our Mother’s kitchens back home. We sat and watched the festive entertainment on TV, the Sinatra and Crosby specials and Carols from Harry Connick Jr. We slept as we were and come morning the paths had been cleared our calls to the main Hospital informed us trains were running and tracks and roads were set for departures. Together we made our first leg of the journey to the city train station. Said our goodbyes and went on our separate ways.

The train was cold, frozen even. Some ice around the window slowly thawed and pooled at my feet. I made it home for Christmas Eve as the day dimmed back to darkness. Our story of two left in the stone museum of our student residential home was not abandonment. To us it was an adventure, an experience to remember all 23rd of Decembers. Homemade cake, companionship and friendship everlasting. Sometimes an experience made through chance can be richer than the end journey itself. It reminds us that all is well, all will be well and that faith takes us to another day.

(Image from Google images)


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Forgiveness

forgiveness-clouds

It’s time I left
It’s time to go
There’s nothing but
Feelings of woe

Words are all said
It’s clear it’s through
I have no more
Trying won’t do

I take the signs
It’s plain to see
You want no more
No more of me

My only wrong
I cling too tight
I made a stand
For what was right

Time has passed
I don’t know why
I carry this with me
It just makes me sigh

I choose to live
Without the pain
I need to forgive you
To break the chain

Peace will come
Then we’ll be free
To pass on by
Feeling harmony

(Images from Google images)


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Weekly Writing Challenge – “glimmers of a beginning”

This week’s challenge

To recap, here’s what to do for the challenge. As always, feel free to adapt the challenge as you see fit. The object is to get you writing:

  1. Pick three original details from encounters during your day or your week that you’ve observed.
  2. Once you’ve collected your details, your “glimmers of a beginning,” write at least one paragraph containing your original details.

Traditions

Today I read a blog by the Hitch-Hikers Handbook to my husband as we sat drinking coffee organising our day.  It was  about traditions for a Polish Christmas. I particularly liked the well organised structure of celebrations beginning on Christmas Eve. My husband also agreed that our Christmas Day is packed with meeting all expectations. We discussed the Polish way of having our meal Christmas Eve and then to the vigil service at church, but in the end, we have traditions of our own and if we change what we do “we’ll be missed” I said. We have family to meet, and friends home for the holidays, friends with news of their year gone by and time to reminisce about our younger years ….

Later that day,  a tradition of our own is a visit to what the town call the Christmas shop. In fact the shop is open all year round, as an upholstery and furnishings shop, but at Christmas they open all three floors and decorate at least four trees on each floor with vintage Christmas themed gifts, decorations, basically everything under one roof for Christmas. At the shop a friend of ours works behind the counter and jokes that it’s our once a year visit to the shop. We exchange plans for Christmas and where we will meet up next and then she said “as usual she is at her mothers for Christmas day, but her grandfather passed away last week, and he will be missed”. With all the presents and fairy lights it all looks like a joyous occasion but this is also a time to remember those that are no longer with us….. people we miss.

Daylight disappeared with a short display of a pink sky in the distance then the velvet navy clouds hung down like curtains as we passed the sea shore road in the car, on our way home. The sound of the sea could be heard behind a slab concrete barrier wall as waves drummed close to rocky mounds of sea breakers. The car was dark, all but the orange neon lights in places around the dashboard. The radio was playing a Christmas carol, O Holy Night.  A less popular carol I thought but a lovely mesmerising tune heard maybe once in the festive period amongst the top hits or the Sinatra oldies. The sounds had a wholeness effect that seems to penetrate into your chest. You know the one. Of emotional in-pouring that fills you full of smiles from your feet to your eyes where the joy overwhelms and pushes tears  into the corners of your eyes.  The music plays with emotions and the surrounding sound of the elements outside percussioning the shores seemed to soothe, all at the same time.

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