Encounter

9th April.


Here is the first flower this year on our pond. A sign of hope that spring in definitely trying to break through. There are green leaves also on my rose bushes and they are thrusting forward with new growth .
It was a special moment as I waited for just a few seconds before taking this picture. An encounter with a fresh beginning, right at the start of the promised unfolding .
It's a funny thing the idea of encounter.
How many ways can we make an encounter? There must be many.
I encounter peculiar people when travelling by train to London.
I'll just tell you about one.
For the most part nobody gives eye contact, preferring their newspapers- the Metro, the Daily Mail, the Gaurdian - or their phones on which they watch endless episodes of their favourite soaps or they might be on their laptops and tablets where they tap away as if the world as they know it would collapse around them should they dare to look away from the screen.
But occasionally someone will pick me out , will try to talk to me. Yes, quite odd. And it doesn't depend on weather or not I'm reading my book or looking at my phone. I must have something about me that says, "yes, she looks as if she's desperate to hear my story"
Anyway, last week I had to change trains and while waiting for the next one, standing quietly by myself, a lady started a conversation - just about trains and waiting . As our train pulled into the station i thought ( and hoped) we would go our separate ways.
But no!
She had saved me a seat  ( so kind, you might say)!
So, for the next two stops I listened to her tell of her great excitement about her friend's 40th birthday which was where she was headed. They were going to be going to a spa at a local hotel and then back to the house of her friend to watch films  ( Paddington Bear, no less), drink Prosceco and laugh , yes they were going to do a lot of laughing , she assured me.
I said very little , but by the time we arrived at her stop it was like she thought we were "best friends"!!
"How lovely to meet you," she beamed, "I hope you have a great weekend."
I said goodbye politely and settled back with my soduko puzzle for the last part of my journey.


So, was that a "real" encounter, bearing in mind that at the end of it she knew virtually nothing about me??

This poem from last April deals with the desire for encounter:

The Mountain

I build a mountain , monument to passions,
Daily piling on more earth,
The soil of attachments,
Keeping me from getting close
To you

So much now stands in the air between us
That space that isn't space
Filled as it is with life's distractions
 I cannot hope to crawl close
To see you

And suddenly all seems like dust
A pile of nothing but rubbish
And what's important,  I now see
Is how will  I get  near
To you

So, with teaspoon, I dig at the face
Of the huge mountainside
Little by little arm swinging in rolling rhythm
I throw the dirt behind until I get
To you

Walk By ?

27th Nov 2017

I'm joining the six sentence story challenge this week, for want of any inspiration.
 The word we've been given  is "mate":

Walk By ?

"Got any change mate?" he pushed his hand forward in front of you and you noticed that the creases in it were lined with black grime, a sign that he'd been sleeping rough for some time.
You went to move away, to avoid contact, your heart rate rising, your stomach turning cartwheels, but something kept you rooted to the spot, even though everything was telling you to just brush past him.
You were about to say "sorry" and walk on when you looked up and caught his gaze, pleading , sad , honest, so instead you said, "hang on a minute," while you rummaged in your pocket and pulled out a fiver.
"Thank you sir, thank you so much," he took the money and kept bowing,  "I'll use it wisely, promise."
As he walked away, bent over with the burden of his belongings in a sack on his back , you tried to compose yourself, to get back to what you were doing, to catch your train, but you were disturbed.
You wondered what had brought him to this point, so instead of catching your train that day you turned around and went in search of him, in search of the man who got under your skin, to hear his story and maybe do a little more to help.


I know it's another one about the homeless. It's just that it's winter and I hate the thought of anyone not having a home and some food to keep them well.

Move Your Body Move Your Words

18th Oct 2017

Reading at the prompt for day 11 left me cold. I thought, right, where can I go with this? I was completely stumped and my little grey cells were snoozing away and not in the least bit interested in the problem.
But I thought I must write something as some words are better than no words. Aren't they?

Move Your Body Move your Words

I nearly missed the train this evening.

With a sea of commuters I ran for the 6.0 o'clock
train
A seat tonight was out of the question, that fact was
plain
Bodies hustled, toes trod on, shoved, not admitting to
pain
Damp smell from clothes polluting the air, all got wet in the
rain
The seated make no eye contact, arriving early was their
gain
They ignore the pregnant, the old, the infirm, eyes closed in the
main
Some are on  phones, others read books and in their seats they
remain

I am not young and with my poorly hip could do with a
rest
So when a lot get off at the next stop I feel I'm now well
blest
I take a seat in first class  in  a comfy chair like a
guest
Let's see how long I can keep my place, it's like a little
test
No one comes to remove me -  home, that's always the
best

  

SSS- Well

27th April.


Six sentences and using the cue n- "well"

Packing

Jackie sat on his bed and helped Daniel to  pack his suitcase, slowly folding each jumper and t shirt and handing them to him, brushing her fingers against his and wondering how they had lived  together in the same flat for the last three years without getting close romantically.
"Pass me those books, please," he put out his hand without looking at her, seemingly oblivious to her grief, which, to be fair she was trying to hide.
Why hadn't she done something before, she thought as she passed him the book of poems they used to read on rainy evenings whilst drinking a glass of Rose. 
Was it too late now,  she thought, after all the train to Doncaster would leave Bath at four o'clock and then he would be gone forever.
"I'll miss you," she whispered, reaching for his hand, their eyes meeting, each pouring into the other the longing that, secretly, they held between them.  
"Well,"  he said softly, pulling her towards  him, "you can always get a job in Bath and follow me down and do you know what, I'd like nothing better"