Stuff from Morning Pages.

30th April 2020

Bits from my journal 28th April

The days run into each other a bit at the moment, 
not all exactly alike,   but samey nevertheless. 
I didn't sleep much last night.
Possibly it was because of an insect bite 
that I got on my knee
 when we went to the woods yesterday. 
Got through my thick jeans, of so. 
Or maybe it was the chicken. 
Anyways, it was quite a good day in all, 
starting with The Writer's Hour 
first thing in the  morning.

I love it 
Something creative occurs 
with a little nudge
And nobody's going to 
critique or judge.
While I find I'm in
A scene, a moment, lost
I find an hour gone by
at no extra cost.
It make me focus
on the words before me 
If there's any distraction
I don't tend  to see.
I've written more words 
in just three days
Than in a whole month
trying other ways.
So, I'll turn up tomorrow
And the next day too
for as long as it's offered
I'll know what to do.
I might even get finished
my memoir this year
A definite possibility
I'll let out a cheer.

Later that morning, not that I felt like it, I went with my hubs and daughter to get Dog food for our little puppy. He'd been making do for a while as we were not able to get out because of the virus. 
Observing social distancing my daughter waited her turn to go into Pets at Home, while hubby walked puppy round the car park. I sat in the car, with the sun warming my shoulders, reading. 
Bliss...
Another daughter lives near, so we went to wave at the grandchildren. 
For about twenty minutes we chatted to the six of them and their Dad. 
It lifted my spirits, made my day,
and I think, by the looks on their faces, 
by the stories they shared, eagerly,
 that they liked it too.
One day, someday, 
I'll be able to hug them again,
 sit with them on my lap again, 
nuzzle my face into their hair 
and smell the coconut shampoo again 
 I can't wait... 
Mum was doing an online  course and didn't even know we'd called.

We left their house and headed for the woods, 
me still on cloud nine, all senses heightened, we chatted, we laughed about our few minutes of pure joy with the kids. 

To get to the woods, we amble through a field, 
two butterflies, like brown leaves dance a tango
fly, this way, that way, 
in the distance a farmhouse, white behind green trees,
love to live there,
and now peace, 
no hum of traffic, 
no hum of people, 
other sounds creep upon us,
insects, birds, 
we stop to listen
our own breath,
the rustle of leaves.
The woody aroma fills our lungs.
I count four huge oak trees
their branches - a picture 
of strength- comforting.

Silver birches, ashes, alders,
hawthorn bushes
and in the clearings,
bluebells spread like 
picnic blankets
with shafts of light like
slabs of lemon drizzle cake,
dotted with small clusters
of delicate, pink woodland
flowers at the edge
of the paths .


Two bluetits fly between 
the branches 
one, a baby and the other the parent
 feeding it.






A little grey squirrel 
scurries round the  
trunk of a thick oak.
I walk, I ponder
I think, I pray
I'm so lucky.
Yes, Lord, it's been a good day.
Thank you. 

Plate

20th Sept 2017

The cue for the six sentence story this week is "plate" . So, here, I had a go...


Acorns 

The leaves -  brown, golden, red - pirouette around  tree trunks in the park - remains of warmer days.
 Those long , sunny days when children chased each other round these same trees, while parents sat chatting on picnic blankets in the still shade of colourful parasols,  a feast of tempting summer foods laid out before them.
I shiver in the chill earthy breeze and remember a plate of cold meats, mixed green and purple leaves, sweet, red tomatoes, spring onions and  home made mayonnaise and fresh bread and butter and think that today I would prefer hot thick soup with a crispy roll.
It wasn't an unusual scene, nor an exceptional day - we'd had many such outings - except that it was the last time we would ever see Charlie.
I hold my coat around me, walk slowly around the trees and notice the green to pale brown colour of the acorns that I crunch underfoot with each step.
I don't often come through the park these days, but am on my way to see his mum and have been thinking a lot about that picnic, how happy all the children were, how Arthur and Charlie, both twelve during that week, spent the afternoon climbing trees and how, when it was time to go home they begged to stay  for just another half an hour and come home on their own.