Medicinalmeadows

Ever-unfolding


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The Forest…Part 3…stuck in the mud…

I hear the birds at sunset as they gather themselves high in the trees. In the cabin the light fades from hues of orange, to blues to black, mesmerising me, enticing me to close my eyes. In the last light I push the table in front of the door, position the chair ninety degrees, my arm on the table top, I rest my head, my eyelids too heavy to lift…all is dark anyway. The cabin is now my shelter, a square shack, old and tired, draughty too. I have not heard the door handle rattling at night so I now sleep some hours in the dark. The wall opposite the door is made of stone and after pulling boards away from the centre to reveal a fire grate, I can light a small fire. In the grate was a tin pan, a cup and a spoon and camping flint. My feet are still so cold and I use the blanket I found here to wrap them at night. But they are so terribly cold. The fire produces some heat but it loses to the draughts eventually. The floor is made of wooden boards and the spaces between the slats means only the chair can be slept on, but dawn breaks with sun, always the sun.

My days have been spent venturing outside of the cabin. I wake to the sound of the birds, such a noise…and hunger pains.  Only a few feet away is a stream, just across the path, a safe distance to collect water I heat in the pan and drink. I found berry bushes at the side of the shack too, probably planted by the previous owner. I can survive on this for a few nights as I am sure people will be looking for me by now so if I just stay… they will come. Occasionally at midday I think I hear voices, like on that first day. I am unable to climb that embankment it seems too steep and wet  from the rain. People are close… I know it, so it will only be a day maybe and I will be found. I feel I need to remain here near the shack, to wander into the woods again would be so foolish. I would only enter the muddy paths again and the rain would purge down… like that first day. I am resolved…resolved to being found. I have no map, no compass to find my way back …I can’t be stranded again like that frozen day. No, staying here is the only option now, soon they will come…I know it.


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Butterfly Friends

At Holehird Gardens, Windermere the fragrant blooms
of the wisteria attract the butterflies in large numbers.
There must have been at least ten of the darlings on the
flowers at one time.

It has been a dream of mine to have a butterfly land
on my hand so I stood patiently with my palms flat
and open to the sky hoping one of them would land
for just a short while.

I didn’t manage to entice one to my hand
but two of them did approach,
one on my scarf and one on my shoulder.
Pure delight.

butterfly3

butterfly4


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A Message

A touch, a hand with loving care.
Clutching fingers embrace and calm the despair.
Enveloping a message in a time of need,
Hold on take heed.
Fingers latch, a firm call.
Making a promise, catching if you fall.

Your prompt: fingers
Today’s form: prose poetry
Today’s device: assonance
We’ve tackled alliteration last week — the strategic repetition of consonants in close proximity to each other. Today, let’s give assonance a try. It’s the same thing, only with vowels.