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The Forest….Part 2 The story continues…..

I hear voices and look skyward. The light through the leaves streams yellow into my vision. I squint, the hiss of the rain has stopped. I hear birds and movement from a subtle breeze waffling the greenery. The path I came along is adjacent to a banking of terraced trees. In the darkness it looked dense and dark. In the skimming light I can now see the boarder of the trees at a high level.

“Maybe there is a wall under the foliage? I definitely hear sounds, speech or breeze? I don’t know.”

I am unable to move without pain. My feet feel as if all circulating blood had been replaced by ice. I wriggle my toes stabbing axon to axon. Cold wet and fragile, I move, yes… I move one foot with a pained gasp, my lips splutters the wetness out into the air from my soaked face. A deep inhale and the other foot is free. I flip sideways to a more solid area of grown grass. My thighs ache into my knees and this sudden movement races into my pelvis shooting metal rods into my hips. I stop, stand and bend the knees and then straighten completely to free the cramped joints.

“Do they know I’m down here are they coming to rescue me?”

I stand for what seems like an hour. I have no way of knowing how long I have been ridged into this mud. Now more alert, I have kick started a powerful force of adrenaline which now arrows through my veins. My mouth wet, now dry, tongue engorged, lips pitted and crack, I taste blood.

I’m alert, my senses have gone from exhaustion to hypersensitivity, now a different trembling is upon my muscles. There is a loud drumming in my ears, percussion on my chest wall. My eyes now are failing to see through light and give false double images, I try to blinking rapidly to regain my sight. My wet skin now pins as pores heat up the more I move. I feel my bare feet change to full dexterity but I stumble. The forest floor feels like pine needles that stab into the soles of my waking feet. The smell is becoming overpowering as if someone has thrown a damp pine branch onto a fire and the scent is carried into my brain and my nose is aching all the way through into my sinuses with the pungent poison.

I hurry, bent over, scurrying, up ahead I see a shed,

“I know this forest” and without hesitation I heavily fist the latch and shove the door open.

One room, one single room inside, one table one chair. There is a blanket on the chair as if left just for me. Someone… knew…. I was coming.

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Friendship


An out stretched hand
To give freely
Not fluid or sand
Friends completely

Strong hold offered
With gentle care
No price proffered
A call of prayer

A hand to hold
In time of need
Together bold
You can proceed

(For the WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge: My Dear Watson)

Photography from my Father’s family album

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Manifesto

Harness the sun
Like the flower
And see the day
By the hour

In the moment
Notice the scene
Pay attention
It’s not a dream

Collect the sight
And store to mind
Think not forward
The least we find

Be here and now
In suns full stream
Open flowers
Expose esteem


Weekly Writing Challenge: Honey versus Vinegar

Pass It On…..

Book1For me selecting a good book to read is a pastime. I enjoy being a book browsers and picking my next story very carefully. After finishing a good read I always wonder if someone would love the book as much as I have. I think there are two ways of passing on the enthusiasm for a story.


Book clubs seem to be a new social activity for the 21st century reader. There are clubs in libraries, village halls and many cafes. There are also online clubs that appear in our blogging world, convenient and accessible to many readers. These clubs provide the chance to talk and see other’s opinions on a story.

The second way is to pass on a loveable read at a mini book exchange. I found one in a village nearby. This old telephone box is used to drop off used books and to take a book in return. The villagers and regular users of the exchange keep the box well stocked. I love the idea of passing books forward for someone else to enjoy. It is a wonderful act of kindness to give someone else the opportunity to travel, imagine and go on an adventure with the book you have passed on for free.


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Weekly Writing Challenge: Time for Poetry











Weekly Writing Challenge: Time for Poetry

Place of Solace

High winds challenge the beams
Drafts that succumb the seams
Candles dance, sway and flicker
Sunlight appears as glitter

Stone pillars up high captures
The ceilings heavenly rafters
Glimpses of small angelic faces
Wings of cherubim’s hiding places

Sandstone patterns in lattice
A gemstones emulating facets
Rainbow light beaming down
On a crucifix, a thorny crown


Weekly Writing Challenge: Threes

Weekly Writing Challenge – write a post using three photographs for inspiration

A walk through an old train tunnel leads out onto a hill overlooking the sea.  From the hill it is possible to see the mountains and the view along the coastline leads to old Pillboxes now sloping into the sea, the elements
now removing them from their watch posts.



pill boxes

These brick defences
Old and neglected
So crumbles the earth
Foundations defective

Service now rendered
Structures forgotten
And waves take over
As masonry is rotten

The elements now move
Buildings of the past
So time, sand and sea
Mean they will not last


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


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)