Stillborn still Loved

I didn’t get to wake every morning and kiss your precious tiny face;
or whisper mammy loves you to make you feel safe
I was never allowed to hold you tight
when you couldn’t sleep at night
I didn’t get to sing to you a sweet lullaby,
to calm you down when you cried
I didn’t get to fall asleep with you in my arms,
all swaddled in a crochet blanket to keep you snug warm
I didn’t get to hear you laugh and giggle
or see you little tiny baby toes wiggle
There are many things I didn’t get to do,
But my tiny still born but still loved babies mammy never stopped loving or remembering you

Accidental cat

I have a cat with an identity problem.

He thinks he’s a dog.

Now I have never owned a cat before him ( Lucifer)

I was working in community mental health I went out one sunny day in May to visit a new patient.

An elderly lady who lived in a first floor flat.

Just her an her cat

We sat and chatted for a few minutes when in comes the cat.

It’s huge and as it sat down it looked like a massive triangular door stop.

Wow I say is the cat pregnant.?

She looks at me like pissed in her teacup!

“No she’s fucking not !” She hisses

“She’s doesn’t go out of the flat!”

Okay okay! 🙈

I make my excuses and leave

“see you tomorrow

I call as I shut the front door

Me and my big mouth.

I vow never to comment again on the fat triangular cat!

The day after I return.

Her mood had to improved she opens the door and I follow her upstairs she’s muttering under her breath and the smell of cat pee is so pugnent I kick myself for presuming the triangle cat has ever been out side.

She stands at the top of the stairs cigarette hanging from her mouth pointing at the bedroom door.

Your fault she says

You cursed me.

I peep around the door there on the floor by a pile of rubbish bags is the much slimmer triangle doorstop cat licking three beautiful kittens

A voice behind me says

I’m drowning them.

Oh no I say I’ll have one and I’ll find homes for the others

She’s still scowling.

I’ll pay for cat food until they can leave their mammy.

And then we can take her to be neutered.

Still she scowls

Let’s go sit down and chat.

We talk about support and help she needs and I feel her soften slightly.

I call to the shop and pick up cat food and litter and a few packets of buiscits

Take photos of the kittens and ring the pdsa to make appointment.

Over the next few weeks we got to know each other better her guard came down as I took her out shopping and to the pub for a surprise birthday lunch.

Eventually the kittens we’re ready to leave Lucifer, Lola and Ragnar

All had forever homes and the triangle cat was neautered!

Just in case she left the flat again!

I took Lucifer home to my canalside cottage.

My first cat ever

My elderly dog saffie adored him he would try to suckle her and she would lick him soon they were best friends.

When saffie and I walked down the canal

Lucifer started to follow

Where saffie went so did our cat…

If a dog barked at saffie this crazy cat would warn it off with a hiss and arched back! They were inseparable.

Last year we lost our saffie she was 14 it broke my heart.

Lucifer pined for her

Every night 7pm stood at the door by saffies lead.

So of course we still go for a canal walk .

I’m sure she about walking with us too.

Me and my beautiful accidental cat 🐈

Flight & floating mystery

So on my way back to South wales from cannock driving down M6 past Birmingham airport.

Overhead flies a bowing 747 coming in to land.

Now I’ve never been a fan of flying probably as my head can not work out how such a huge lump of metal weighing 439,985 kg loaded with people bags food fuel can FLY. yes I googled it.

It completely spins me out!.

So then Jeff goes on to tell me that equal to approx 8 40 ton lorry’s duct taped together.

How?

Then he says cargo planes carrying tanks ect are even heavier 🙈

My head hurts.

He’s no hysterical laughing.

Is it just me? Does anyone else have a problem with the how is this even possible?

Discounting witchcraft.

One woman on a besom is far more easier to comprehend.

I also had this problem six years ago as we boarded P&O cruise ship the Ventura.

It was a 50th birthday present for jeff.

Now I’ve been over to France when I was 16 on a ferry and to Isle of man and of course I was expecting something a little bigger.

But f@@k me it was huge..

As I stood next to the smiling man who took my car keys at the dock looking up at the huge building like structure. I wanted to get back in my car.

How was That going to float?

Sixteen floors of restaurants dance floors swimming pools and people?

Don’t think about it Jeff says. It just is.

I have a theory.

When I was a kid there was a massive Co op shop in town where at Christmas you could que to see santa.

His elf would seat everyone on a beautiful decorated magical sleigh fairy lights would flash brightly scenery would pass snowy cabins and mountains of the noth pole as the sleigh rocked to and fro.

Exited children would then be shown off the sleigh and now magically they had been transported to Santa’s workshop in the North Pole!

We we’re definitely not in the basement of the local co op in a small northern town.

It was magic.

So maybe Santa’s sleigh builders progressed to building boeing 747 and huge cruise ships.

That has to be a much more understandable explanation.

😉

The problem with grown up children.

Here I am lying in bed pondering a question only women of a certain age will think.
Do grown up children every completely move out?
You see I absolutely adore my children. They are my reason to breathe.. But…
Oh yes there is a but.
I live in a small two up two down stone cottage.
I say small it’s actually bloody tiny.
So after my youngest (he’s 27 not a teenager) moved in with his pregnant girl friend I imagined I’d have a spare bedroom and some wardrobe space.. a desk maybe with a lamp a space to write over looking the canal. Sigh.. (the photo is the view from my bed. (Yes really)
It doesn’t take a lot to please me.
Nor may I add do I have lots of clothes so small amount of wardrobe space will do fine! Some women have walk in wardrobes 10 hangers will be fine..
That was a year ago.
I have a beautiful new grand daughter I adore. And a daughter in love who I love like my own.
But probably even less space. Yes less…
My eldest granddaughter (12) has taken over my spare room proclaiming ‘Nanny it’s not spare it’s mine’ play stations and a avalance of Mac make up sets of books, hair extensions precariously balanced crockery towers. You get the picture.
My son has moved out but his girlfriends house is only two bedrooms so he can’t possibly take all his fishing gear, electric guitars (three of them) more shoes than emelda Marcos and a wardrobe full of clothes and numerous electrical appliances .oh and a bike. Because ‘ mam we have a baby do you know how much space their stuff takes?’

I refrain from answering unsure if it was a statement or a question. I’m looking for my phone as we are having this conversation.

Mam he laughs you can never find anything!
No son said item is probably buried under a mountain of fishing gear bike and shoes.
He smiles at me tells me I’m the best and what’s for tea tomorrow because they are calling over. Ring me I say with a smile. Who knows I may not have found my phone.
Pass the wine.

Glastonbury town. Connected, tribe

There are so many opinions on Glastonbury town

Isle of Avalon.

Disney for pagans .

Love it or hate it

It’s a bit like marmite.

Where do I stand?

I love it. It’s a truly beautiful place. Small town filed with spiritual people from all paths beliefs, hippys, Buddhist, witches, Christian.

It doesn’t matter. All drawn for different reasons.

My hubby Jeff loves it. He often says if a space ship lands in the high Street and it’s crew where to go shopping. Absolutely no one would blink an eye lid.

Acceptance that’s it .

Glastonbury magic we are all like a huge collection of old pieces from random jig saws but we fit.

Different religions sitting together with out feet dangling in the chalice well.

Singing and meditation in the white spring.

Walking the sacred labarynth in the church yard.

No one questioning out intentions our spirituality our love.

Knowing that we Are all from the same source of all.

Different ways of walking the path

Cosmic journey we are all connected

All on our way home.

Circle of Women

Women are from Venus Men are from Mars.

I get that.

There really is nothing more powerful than a circle of women .

Strong, unbreakable, inspiring and much more

Women’s best friends are stronger often than blood.

Or at least that’s my experience.

Women’s friends often know them better than their partners .

They are the duct tape that hold each other’s lives together.

How do men manage without that?

I have a few close women friends and I know without doubt they have my back and I have theirs

Free thinkers, poets, dreamers, rebels, square pegs hippys women who walk barefoot and arnt afraid to be exactly who they are.

Make no excuses take no prisoners. Who dance in the rain.

Honest funny, loving. Passionate

My tribe.

Chosen sisters

I love you

I am truly blessed.

Knight in a v.w van.

Save me from the mundane

Pull me back into your world.

Make me feel alive again.

Remind me that I’m your girl.

Burst my irredesent bubble of invisibility.

Wake the passion within me.

Tell me that you still see.

The wild and untamed rebel

The one who stole your heart.

She calls to the world from deep within me.

Finding it hard to play her part.

I know that I have wondered

Far away from your side..

I’ve been lost in barren places

Where my past and demons hide.

Many times you’ve come to my rescue.

Carried my soul back to our door.

Wrapped me in a cocoon of unconditional love

Keet my monsters behind a steel door.

The wrong side of town.

I was ten years old when Dad said we were moving house.

Tea time were sitting at the kitchen table eating bacon and potatoes when it was first mentioned. ‘What do you think then would you like to move house?’

‘We’d be living near your nanny, and there is a school right across the road from the house!’

‘My school is across from this house’ I reply.

I carried on pushing my bacon round my plate, without speaking, there’s a family that I know they want a house swap with us but if you don’t want to go we won’t go’

Yeah right i thought. ‘But my school is across the road here Dad’ I say again.

I like my school, and our Pam and the kids live here’

‘Well it’s only a bus ride away.

They can sleep over.’

What he forgot to mention is it was across the road from the labor club he drank in.

I put my fork down and stood up. ‘Come here and give your Dad a love.’

He held his arms out and pulled me onto his knee ‘Come on smile for your Dad’. I smiled weakly and so it was we were moving away from everything I knew.

On the day of the move Mam was still packing boxes old tea chests with sharp metal edges I sat in the back garden with my dog lady listening to Dad and his brother Frank laughing in the kitchen. I don’t remember a van there but must have been one.

I remember uncle Frank’s Mk 1 pale blue scruffy escort stuffed with bags the bird’s cage on the back seat with all the old cushions of the sofa. The yellow topped Formica kitchen table tied upside down on top of the roof rack. I remember staring at the paint stained legs of the table as the rain started to fall.

We must have looked a sight! Nesbits bloody flitting my Dad said laughing his booming laugh as he stood at the front door drinking his last pint in our lovely old house.
Then after our dinner of spam and piccalilli butties Mam hurried my dog lady and me into the back of the car with the last of our belongings. uncle Frank was always running out of petrol and prayed he would run out today but sods law he wouldn’t. I held onto Lady she shook and shivered she hated being in a car I talked softly to her promising her we would be alright but from the moment I stepped out of the car I knew I was wrong.
Everywhere looked dull and grey.
Our old house was across from the woods, ponds with tadpole’s.

Fields with horses and the pig farm and apple orchards everywhere there was green.

I couldn’t believe the difference.

We were just behind the main road on what I was soon to find out was the rough side of town. Industrial, grey and bleak.
The house was at the very end of the terraced street on the edge of a huge council estate.
Greyhound track on the gable end of the house, school field in front leading to canal at the side of a massive ugly gas meter. From the back door was the busy main road I stood in the rain and cried.
‘Dad I want to go home’.

’Don’t be so bloody daft we are home’ he said taking my dog from me.

She pulled on the lead and looked back at me she wanted to go home too I knew it.
Then with a slam of the door he locked her in the outside brick shed!

I screamed I was near hysterical ‘Please Dad please don’t lock lady in there she’ll be scared.’ I pulled at his jacket but he pushed me off and snapped the lock shut on the bolt! I could heat lady scratching to get out and she start to whine. I hung onto his coat.’I’ll look after her Dad’ I continued to plead ‘She doesn’t know were she is!’ He grabbed my arm.

‘STOP IT NOW! he road back handing me with a slap knocking me onto the wet soggy grass.

‘She’s bloody staying in there until I get back all the doors are open in the house and your Mam is sorting out she’ll get out and run off.

‘Now go help your mammy unpack and I’ll let her out when I get back from the club. I’m going for a pint with our Frank.’

That’s when I realized why we’d moved. The labor club were Mam and Dad drank was across the main road. I could see it from the back door. I sat against the shed door sobbing in the rain watched him walk away over the club to get drunk again.

Lady cried inside and I cried outside. Mam opened the back door ‘Get in here and help me unpack.’

‘No!’ I screamed I’m staying out here! Until Dad comes back.’

‘Well bloody stay there’ she muttered.
I lay against the door pushing my fingers underneath to feel lady’s wet nose.
It was freezing lying on the flags but I couldn’t leave her there she was scared. Itwent dark and Dad still wasn’t back. Still I didn’t move.
I hated him now.
Mam was shouting at me to come inside, ‘Get in now or I’ll bloody belt you look at the bloody state of you,’
‘No! I’m not leaving lady!’
‘The next thing I know Mam’s dragging me kicking and screaming through the back door. ‘Get up the stairs now and into bed!’
‘I hate you I hate you both I shout.
I hated her, hated Dad!

But most of all I hated this house. I stood at the window looking over at the club all lit up by spot lights around the car park.

I stand staring at the big blue door. People go in different people come out.
Accept Dad!
I lie on the bed determined not to sleep.
But eventually I do.

Daylight comes through the window and I jump up still wearing damp clothes from the day before looked out of my window to the back garden, the shed door swinging to and fro in the wind. I run downstairs Mam stands stiring tea in the tiny kitchen.

’Where’s lady?’

’Ask your bloody Dad!’

I run into the living room were he is lying on the sofa propped up from the night before. ‘Well tell her then!’ says Mam from the kitchen.

I feel suddenly sick.

And I want to cry.
‘Dads were is she?’
’She’ll be back’ he said with a false smile and a tear spilled from my eye. ‘Where?’

I asked again

‘He let her out last night pissed bastard, and she ran off.’

I’m sobbing now. ‘Lets go find her now!

She might get run over on that big road,’

‘Dad please, please get up she doesn’t know were she is!’

‘I’ve looked’ he is saying. But he’s lying he is still drunk.

I pulled on my shoes and run out of the house. I’m crying so hard I can’t see.

For hours I call her name, walked up and down the big main road, over to Nanny goat park then up and down the back streets every corner I turned I expected to see her. She isn’t just my dog shes my best friend

The lady from the flying horse pub comes out and asks if I’m okay?

‘Have you seen my dog her name is Lady she’s a whippet, we just moved here she doesn’t know her way home, my Dad let her out last night and I cant find her’ I looked up at her still sobbing.

‘No my darling were do you live?’

And I realized I dont even know my address.
‘Does your mammy know your out, where’s your coat?’

I cant answer her.

‘Poor doll’ I hear her say as I walked away. Eventually it goes dark and I walk back to see if she has found her way to the house. She hasn’t.

Every day for a week I refuse to eat or go to look at my new school I want lady back and I wanted to go home.

Everyone else carry’s on as normal.
Then one afternoon Dad comes in with a letter he sits me on the stairs and gives it to me to read he tells me it is from the vet.
I can’t see to read it through my tears he said lady had been knocked down on the main road, they had operated on her leg but she had died. I cried so much my whole body hurt. I hate you I managed to sob as I slammed the bedroom door behind me.
I wished it wad been him instead of lady it was his fault. I loved her more than anything, she’d been with me since I was born she slept by my bed.
All the times I had been hurt, or woke in the night when the monster came it was her that calmed me.
Sneaking into my bedroom to lick away my tears.
Who would look after me now?

Years later in one of their many arguments Mam shouted out that Dad had some girl from the labor club type that vets letter out to stop me from looking for her.

The night of the move Dad had come back drunk he’d opened the door of the shed lady had run from him and in front of a car on the main road. She hadn’t been killed

with no money for a vet he had taken her to his brothers then the next day whilst I was out looking for her he had shot her and buried her at the dam by our old house in the fields id loved to play in.
He’d let me walk the streets calling her for a week Always hoping someone had found her and was looking after her.
Not only was he a drunk he was a liar as well. Oh how I hated him.

Social Media

I’m toying with removing myself from all social media.

Yes all of it.

The distraction addiction

I love technology I love the ease of writing on a laptop.

Old enough as I am to remember typing lessons at school. On ancient type writers

Ribbons of ink.

Stiff keys

Snarling teachers with knuckle rapping rulers.

Office studies.

Now touch screen I pads

The digital age.

Kids stare at screens to talk to friends

Skype, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat.

But where will it end

Ways to connect ..

Then physically disconnect.

Real people trapped in a cyber prison.

Eyes looking at a screen.

Google maps,

Maps where we have been.

Google history logs all we have seen.

Inbox messages

Birthday reminders,

Millions reasons to stay

Trapped in the cell of our own making.

Forgetting where we we’re heading.

Forgetting where we have been.

Phone in our hand

Ever glancing.

Status writing,

Liking, loving, sad face, angry.

Emotional tiny faces express themselves so we don’t have too.

Photos of holiday, views from around the world

Addictive disconnection

A fear of being alone.

Unsocial Social media.

Little blue button you have been removed from my phone.

No more chain messages

Or threats of being cloned!

Donna


Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I’ve missed you
Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, even if I say
Bye bye, leave me now or never
mamma mia, it’s a game we play
Bye bye doesn’t mean forever

Yesterday I lost my best friend and confidant Donna after a eighteen months battle with cancer. My heart is breaking. To say she was a warrior just doesn’t cut it.. although it’s killing me to write if anything is worth blogging about it’s her. So here is our story.

Donna I met you twelve years ago when I started a new job. You were sat feet up on a sofa doing some paperwork long black hair big btown eyes you glanced at me then back at the paperwork and I thought snotty cow!

That only lasted days before we were laughing and chatting together over coffee then over vodka and cokes on our many nights out.

You had two fab kids Sarah and Richard who were your life our families seemed to slot together. Our friends became joint friends we went on girlie holidays, turkey, Spain, Rhodes, Corfu,

We both loved pink and saw her twice causing chaos in Birmingham and Manchester. You bloody fainted right at the end of first concert so we had to go again.. good excuse

Do you remember the Christmas we stayed in the radion Blu in Cardiff? I’d nipped out to catch the shops for a last min prezzie for you whilst you got ready to go out..crossing the road by John Lewis in the snow I looked up to our third floor room to see you there blinds open wearing only black big knickers ffs how no one crashed I’ll never know..

We had weekends in Manchester you loved Aflex palace and the random shops.

You just loved randomness! I loved the crazy texts and questions you’d send often about penguins bees or some crazy fact. Funny girls in Blackpool oakwood with the kids. Folly farm because you loved the penguins

When we were going out you would take forever strieghtening your hair doing make up . I’d ring and ask are you nearly ready or are you sat on the bed in your towel looking at the wall. ?

You’d call me a knob.. but I was right..

You loved cocktails particularly nutty Russians a dreadful combination of vodka, Tia Maria, amaretto and coke served in the cross keys two for seven pounds. Okay if you needed paint stripper but you loved them after a few you’d sing and dance there was no sitting you down.

We would go to the exchange the D.j knew you so well you would walk in and the next song to play would be Beyonce and shekira beautiful lier and you would grab my hand and we would dance.

I can’t believe that I’ll never dance like that with you again.

So many amazing memories we made you loved boats ‘with sticks’ we would spend our holidays sunbathing on decks of sail boats breeze in our hair, your head on my shoulder I remember black and gold playing on the radio and you looking so very happy your eyes always told the story.

Your favorite book was my family and other animals written in Corfu. From that you loved the Durrels T.V show

Favorite film was Shirley Valentine there was a theme here after a stressful day in work you’d say you were running away to Greece to sit on the beach and talk to a rock!

We had known each other two years when you found your first lump in your breast. You had it removed on my birthday i ever left you after the operation you insisted we go for a Chinese meal we got a take away and sat in Singleton park over the years two more lumps were removed all benign. You never worried about it despite your mother having breast cancer

Then eighteen months ago after prolonged back pain you were admitted with high temperature and infection.

You looked at me scared and asked what if it’s cancer? We reassured you but your gut feeling was right.

I promised you I’d walk beside you and from the day you left hospital you resolved it wasn’t going to beat you.

Any meltdowns you had were few and when no one else was there.

You really were brave amazing and inspiring.

We arranged to meet up with my son and your daughter hoping now grown up they would get along we had always thought they would make a stunning couple.

We we’re right and to our joint delight a year ago they announced they we’re expecting a baby.

Your eyes shone with happiness I was flying out to America that night so we video chatted about baby clothes and prams we we’re going to be nannies together!

First scan confirmed it was a girl and you had a new reason to fight.

Sarah went into labor in June and of course we we’re by their sides and when baby emillia was born we both promised her the world me you Donna and your sister Erica her third Nanny life was good. Emilla was sent for a reason you adore her and are so proud of what an amazing mam and dad Sarah and Mike are. Seeing them as a family made you so happy.

We had booked a holiday you were now on oral chemo going well and off we flew to Corfu.

It was bliss we swam had a few cocktails saw the sights and of course lay on a boat listening to black and gold.

We danced sat up at night and talked lots.

You had been told your scan results were good and maybe we could go to six months

But you had a slight pain in your side and I hated my gut feeling that the liver cancer was spreading.

It was. And so my friend the last few weeks have been hard you continued to fight but I’m sitting here writing your celebration service as I helped you write your end of life plan. You left nothing to chance.

You rang me to tell me that you’d bought us tickets for Mama Mia here I go again I groaned but laughed and I knew it would cheer you up a bit of Abba worked wonders.

But (spoiler alert) the main character Donna wasn’t in it!

First ten mins of film sat in the Vue you asked..

Where’s Donna? They can’t have a Abba film without her? Has she died? Then the story fell into place and eventually at the end of the film Donna appears smiling happy and dancing in spirit. She’s there watching her daughter, her partner and her grand child .

Your eyes shone and you squeezed my hand. Energy never dies I managed to say.

I know you answered . Tell Sarah and Richard to watch this again .. I will I promised. So there was the theme for your celebration of life..

It’s going to be amazing a reflection of you Donna. Funny, happy, positive and different.

I promised you I’d be your celebrant it was down to you I did the course but you said it would go with my soul midwife training and therapies.

You believed in me encouraged me. Knew me better than I know myself.

Donna you bought me a necklace with my favorite quote from my favorite childhood book Peter pan.

Do you know that place between sleep and awake the place where you can remember dreaming. That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I will be waiting.

How I miss you already I will look after your children and will love our grand daughter enough for the both of us. I will talk about you and tell her of all our adventures

I promise

In return come see me Donna in that place between sleep and dreaming bring a sail boat and dance with me again.

You were right how can I have a life without Donna in it.
Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I’ve missed you
Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, even if I say
Bye bye, leave me now or never
mamma mia, it’s a game we play
Bye bye doesn’t mean forever

Love you always Joolz ♥️

Old trees and water.

With a history spanning a centuary Carr Mill dam has hardly changed at all.
It offered the residents of the estates surrounding it a consistent link generation to generation .
There were of course natural changes. Trees had matured, dirt paths had worn around the edge of the water and been made safe shored up and covered in chippings.

The block of shops and minature railway line built in early 1960s has long since disappeared in it’s place the back of a hotel famous for cheap beer and Sunday lunches.

The boating club and beautiful ninteen arches bridge still stand proudly. Speed boat races on a sunday the familiar wizzing noise of the boats could be heard from my bedroom window Generations of ducks.like generations of the same families breed there and never leave.

But for the most part the Dams gentle evolution had gone unnoticed.
In a sheltered spot on the far end of the Dam where most walkers tend not to bother walking the passage of time has been noticed the least. It’s here should you look you would find an old oak tree growing between a steep enbankment and the Waters edge.
The bottom of this huge tree is hollow an arched almost door shape big enough if you should want to you would fit. Why? It’s a fab place to sit to think, hide or read.. It was a huge tree then when I sat there wondering it’s age as a child and my children sat there too whilst I sat on the bank wondering what it was about this place that seemed to pull me back to visit.

That huge old tree I knew each curve and knot as my children climbed and hid around it I remembered sunny days spent here with a favorite book or sneeking into the farm in the next field to.stroke the old black mare. It was quite a magical place. It was my go to place for decisions I was there the night I decided to move to Wales I haven’t been back there for over seven years now but I’m pretty sure nothing has changed since I lived opposite.

The road down to the the dam is full of pot holes not unlike the canal path I now live on in wales
I’ve always lived by water and woodland and I’m sure it was Carr Mill dam that sparked my passion and love for solitude and nature. My go to tree is now on a canal bank.
One day maybe I’ll go back to the estate and the Dam
If you ever find yourself there before me go sit by the oak tree. Take in the view and the quiet.
sit on the moss by the water you may see a dragonfly or two. Say hi from me

Make the change. Any change.

I hate cancer with a passion . Anyone who moans and complains about mundane worldly things drag yourself away from their phone and should go and take themselves to sit in a chemotherapy waiting room for a hour.
Don’t get me wrong spotted soon enough before and mets chemotherapy works pretty well although going through it sickness, hair loss, wearing a cold cap to prevent hair loss, itching insomnia the list goes on, is something no one should endure.
How haven’t we found a cure yet?
Wasting money on weapons and wars. But I guess that the money drug companies make from cancer it isn’t worth their while to find a cure.
I’ve worked as a soul midwife (end of life care) for quite some years and initially I would see different illnesses but now I’d say 95% is cancer.
It’s like a mass clearing of humanity and it breaks my heart.
So much has changed over the last twenty five years. Technology mobile phones, computers, microwaves, sugar is in everything, processed foods. Consumption of meat coming from animals injected with chemicals Something has to change. Spiritually people are starting to.awaken but not enough this world is without doubt addicted to distraction. People are becoming less and less connected with each other.
Look up from your screens and start to question the world we live in.
Start small. Start with yourself

Mam. Market stalls and Pippa

 

 

market

pippa

1973. Age 8

Although Mam is ill she works cleaning three mornings a week for Mrs Cook. She says she has ‘No bloody choice if we want food in the cupboards as well as home brew she has to clean’

She has done this for as long as I can remember.

Mrs cook and her husband Norman live in a big posh house on Rain Rd facing the crematorium. Its two bus rides to get there and its like another world.

A huge semi detached house with a double garage bigger than our house. I love the smell when we walk through the front door Mam says its clean washing smell but i think it smells of happiness because that’s what Mrs cook is happy. She is a big lady she is always pleased to see me. Everything about her is just lovely.

We stand together in the huge leaaded bay window polishing brass ornaments watching the big black cars go down the long driveway to the crem sometimes we see smoke coming from the chimney. There goes another one she laughs. When it’s my turn they won’t need a car they can carry me across the road! I wish she wouldn’t say that I dont ever want her to die.

She and her husband own a string of butcher’s shops and a factory across town they have posh cars an E type jaguar I love and they had motorbikes huge ones that their son rode at the Isle of Man T.T. races when we polish the brass we polish the cups that he has won. But for all the money and money they are as down to earth as anyone.

Mam would go to do her weekly shop in the market she trapses across town for the cheapest of everything. Lennon’s supermarket then to Mrs cooks butchers Next door to the butcher is Jim Chorley’s toy shop.

It is packed with every toy imaginable. So whilst Mam stands at the counter getting her half a pound order. Half pound of stew, half pound bacon, half pound braising steak. I press my nose on the window of the toy stall working my way around the stall making a list in my head of all the things I’d like bikes and prams hanging from the ceiling. Action man, pop and spud guns, spinning tops, hoopla hoops, Spiro graphs, Lego, mechano.

I love this stall and stand there as long as possible picking what I want for Christmas or birthday or whatever is next. Then I see it, a Pippa doll, everyone in school has them apart from me and Wendy, they are on the telly I stand there singing the advert from telly in my head where ever you go Pippa goes too!

I don’t ask for it because I know what the answer will be. I am jolted back to the real world by Mrs Cook’s arms around me from behind. Hugging me smelling of clean cotton overall and fresh meat.

’Now then my little shy girl she smiles what you looking at?’ I smile and pointed through the glass at the Pippa doll.

‘What’s her name?’ I feel my face flush. ‘Come on tell Dolly! Whisper in my ear no one will hear.’ She bends down next to me. ‘Pippa’ I whispered. I hear Mam sigh behind me ‘she doesn’t need it don’t be bloody cheeky you!’ shes saying. I look down at the floor. ‘She’s never cheeky are you my doll,’ Cupping my face in her hands I love her smile and twinkling blue eyes.

‘Come on then!’ She says taking me by the hand. I look back at Mam shaking her head as we disappear into the Aladdin’s cave of Jim Corley’s toy stall.

Mrs. Cook asks the lady for the Pippa doll. ‘And some clothes,’ wow clothes as well.

She passes me the little doll it will fit in my pocket, and then she asks me which of the two sets of clothes I want. A pink suit or a red dress and boots I stand there staring! ‘Oh we’ll have them both!’ Says Mrs Cook

She pulls some money from her overall pocket pays the lady and passed the clothes to me. ‘Thank you’ I whispered, she wrapped me in a huge hug ‘your welcome doll,’ and she kisses me on the cheek.

And with a cheery wave she goes back on the stall to cheerfully banter with another customer. Me and Mam walk out of the market towards the bus stop Mam giving me a telling off telling me she’d told me before about asking for stuff when Mrs Cook was about.

I dont answer i’m too busy pulling Pippa out of her box! We sit on the back of the fifty five bus Mam chats to a lady from the top shops and I singing to myself dressing Pippa in her new red dress and boots. Before I know it Mam is ringing the bell and steering me down the bus with my hood its zip pinching into my neck. ‘Ouch Mam’

I hold onto the bars with one hand and hold Pippa with the other. The bus stops at the end of the street as we walked down I can see our next door neighbor Mrs Lewis is brushing the pavement outside our house.

I run down to show her my new doll. I sit on her step as she sweeps the pavement. She leans on the brush smiling at me.

‘What have you got there then chick’ she asks in her lovely cockney accent.

I hold out Pippa. She takes her from me stroking her hair; ‘well she’s almost as pretty as you!’

I smiled up at her. Mam catches me up wheezing and puffing on her inhaler. Shes always had a ‘bad chest but I look after her when shes not well.

‘Do you want to come and help me later when our Fred gets home?’ I’ll give you a shout and we can go clean his coach.’ Fred drives coaches taking people on holidays when he is home the coach would be parked across the street.

I looked at Mam ‘don’t you look at me she says back ask your bloody Dad!’

’Wont he be in the pub?’ Mrs. Lewis laughs. Mam scowls.

‘You know one day your going to answer me with your mouth instead of those big brown eyes! Fred will give you a knock soon.

True to her word after tea there was a knock at the door its Fred.

‘Come on then I hear you’re the new coach cleaner!’

‘ Go on then’ laughs Mam.

Fred holds my hand and we cross the road to his big blue coach. Pippa is safely sitting in my pocket. We clamber up the steps onto the coach Mrs. Lewis is at the back picking up pop cans and sweet papers loudly cursing school kids.

‘Come on then don’t just stand there! You can fit under these seats much easier than me.’‘ She hasn’t got a fat arse like you’ Fred laughs. Handing me a plastic bag. I crawl in and out of the seats picking up papers, cans and a couple of magazines. Fred follows me with a brush and a mop

By the time I get to the front of the coach I’m covered in dust and my knees are black! I sit in the driver’s seat putting my new doll Pippa by the windscreen swinging my legs pretending to drive. Across the street the front door bangs and Dad here striding down the path rollie in his hand smart jacket on. I watch him walk towards the coach.

He strides over stands by the door, ‘Look at me Dad I’m driving,’

‘Driving be buggered your bloody rotten dirty!’

‘ Sorry. Have you seen my new doll Pippa like my friends in school!’

‘ Yes! I’ve seen her. Bloody ruined you are.’

’She’s a good little help’ said Fred carrying the rubbish bags off the coach.

‘Going down the club Jimmy?’

‘ Aye for an hour you watch yourself crossing the bloody road and behave yourself for your mammy!’

‘ I’ll walk her over now’ says Mrs Lewis wiping her hands on her apron then taking my hand and helping me down the steps. Dad bends down for a kiss. ‘See you later think on now be a good girl.’ I will Dad I promise.

‘See you in the morning cock. Remember he winks!’ he squeezes my hand three times. I squeezed him back. That is his secret. Three times means I love you. See you later he says. I feel sick I hope not.

He stands finishing his cig while Fred locks up the bus. As we walked over to our house Mrs. Lewis mutters about men i don’t think she likes my Dad much.

‘ Ale and bloody fags!’ She stands at the gate while I knock on the door. Mam opens it ‘Look at the bloody state of you lady!’ ‘Sorry’ I hear Mrs. Lewis say behind me. she pushed a twenty pence into my hand. ‘ Go get in the bloody bath its run for you.’ I run upstairs into the bathroom undressed and jump into the warm water. The landing window is open and I can hear Mam still talking to Mrs. Lewis. I wash quickly then lay back and put my head under the water I can hear my heart beating. Its the school holidays now maybe Mam will let me sit up later? I pull the plug and wrap myself in the towel. Mam has left on the sink. My hair is all wet but I pull on my red slacks blue night dress and socks. Jump down each stair. Mam is sitting in the living room watching TV and knitting. ‘Where’s Dad gone Mam?’ ‘Now where do you bloody think? Down the bloody pub! He’ll be back when he’s run out of money. Drunken pig! He should bloody move in there!’

‘ What you knitting Mam?

A cardigan. For you!’

‘Can you teach me to knit?’

‘ Your bloody kitty pawed! I cant teach you’.

‘My sister was left handed and she can’t knit either!’ she continued.

‘ Can I stay up with you Mam there’s no school in the morning?’

Mam looked up from her knitting. ‘What the bloody hell have you got on? Get them bloody slacks off!’

‘ But I like wearing pants in bed Mam!’ then if the monster comes I can run fast and Its cold in my room!’ ‘You look a bloody state no more talk of monsters and its summer’

I sit on the sofa cross my legs under me and put a cushion over my trousers.

Lady jumps up beside me.

‘Get that bloody dog down.’

Lady pushs against me and we sit there together united!

‘I bloody give up!’

‘There is something bloody wrong with you.’

‘You can take them off before you get in the bed.’

’Go make me a cup of tea and you can stay down for a bit.’

I jump up running into the kitchen lady close at my heels.

Pull out the big box of matches and lite the kettle.

Wash Mam’s cup and put tea in the pot.

I quickly made a cup of tea and pour some milk into a cup for me, pouring some into a little into a dish for lady.

.’Shhh! Don’t tell Mam’

She looks up at me lapping the milk and I’m sure she knows what I say to her.

I carry Mam’s tea in put it next to her on the Cornish sit down with my milk.

Lady pushs the door and jumped back up beside me.

I lean over the sofa and picked up my book. Then snuggle down with lady. I turned the page and before long I;m lost with Peter Pan and Wendy.

Mam sips the hot tea looks over at us and shakes her head. she shakes her head a lot.

‘Okay you lie on there and read .Let me watch are you being served.’

Mam sits knitting I drink my milk and lie on the sofa with lady. I fall fast asleep with my book Mam shakes me telling me its time for bed.

‘ Come on get up. Your Dad will be in soon.’

‘Come on up the bloody dancers.’

I get up and sit on the stairs waiting for Mam to let lady back in.

Its raining she comes back shaking herself and runs upstairs before me. I shut the bedroom door, as Mam shouts ‘Don’t let that bloody dog on the bed!’ ‘I wont! Night Mam.’

‘ And take them bloody slacks off!’

‘ I have Mam’

I lie sliding into bed. Lady jumps up and settles by my belly.

As soon as she lies beside me I fell warm and safe. Me lady and Pippa.

If any monsters come Lady wont let them in she will bark and growl and wake Mammy up.

The last goodbye

It was a Monday morning, I’m standing outside the village post office there is a middle-aged woman in front of me, in front of her, an old man smoking a roll up cig. The doors open and the queue slowly move’s inside.

The old man leans on the window ledge as he waits his turn. He is wearing old blue jeans, and jacket, and a denim hat. Not your typical pensioner outfit.

The lines and scares on his face tell a million stories. Stories of a hard man a fighter in his time

Stories of horror, sadness, hard times, joy and laughter.

I try to concentrate on the posters on the wall. Television licence. First class stamps. Car tax. Premium bonds.

I focus on very brightly coloured poster.

St Hayden school Jumble Sale this Saturday 1.PM.

But still my eyes are drawn to him.

Half of me would like him to see me.

Half of me would like to run.

He’s holding what’s left of a roll up fag he was smoking outside. Staring ahead of him, brown eyes the same as mine milky now with age.

Wisps of silver grey hair peep from under his denim cap. Tattoos on his knuckle’s scar on his face.

He’s standing at the counter now, next to me I can smell that familiar smell of old Holborn.

I hand the woman my family allowance book, she’s smiling and saying something about the weather. I wish she would shut up as I’m straining to hear his voice.

Deep and rasping, so familiar, yet he’s become a stranger to me.

His own doing, he doesn’t know me. He never really did.not the real me.

My chest tightens, I feel my eyes prick with tears, but I won’t let them come.

Something inside of me still desperately wants him to know me.

What I’ve achieved and who I am.

He doesn’t know what I like if I take milk in my tea, what makes me happy or sad.

What issues I feel passionately about.

That despite everything I’m a good Mam.

He used to tell me I’d amount to nothing.

Nothing more than a whore.

Those words are etched into my soul.

That is how I always felt insignificant, ugly, worthless, nothing.

You’ve probably guessed by now the old man in front of me is my Dad.

The same old man who still walks in my dreams.

The man who struck terror into the heart of a small child.

Oh Dad I so desperately wanted to please you.

I wanted you to like me.

Sadly I still do.

I find myself fighting to suppress the pity I find myself feeling for him.

My heart beating in my head reminding myself of the holocaust he made my life.

There is a tiny piece of him I loved and adored the sober piece I always will.

That big man that carried me on his shoulders. Held my hand and walked me to school. Held my bike seat and smiled from ear to ear cheering his little girl as I peddled off on my own.

He taught me to play cards, draughts, let me help him when he’d wallpaper.

Gave me my love for books and the outdoors, taught me to write my name then later shared with me his talent for writing poetry.

He taught me to love nature and the countryside.

As I watched in awe as he’d whispered to horses.

Rescued a blackbird from a hawthorn bush.

Talked of make-believe, fairies and magic castles.

Oh how I loved that tiny piece of him, I still do,

I always will.

I desperately wanted then and now for that piece of him to become his whole.

For god the universe or some miracle to take away the bad piece. I want him to turn my way look at me and tell me he’s sorry.

I want him to hold me tell me everything’s going to be okay.

I want a family.

I want my children to have him as their granddad.

I want them to be safe.

He’s walking out of the door now.

I walk out behind him all of these thoughts buzzing in my head.

I get in my car sit in silence and watch him walk out of the post office and away and then the tears start to fall.

For the life I can’t have, and the wishes I can’t make come true.

I know I can’t change him from who he is.

To whom I would desperately like him to be.

But I’ll never stop wanting and wishing.

That day in the post office was the very last time I saw him.

Goodbye Dad.

He died a few years later. I didn’t get a sorry.

I didn’t go to his funeral.

Now I’m allowed to break our silence.sadness, hard times, joy and laughter.

I try to concentrate on the posters on the wall. Television licence. First class stamps. Car tax. Premium bonds.

I focus on very brightly coloured poster.

St Hayden school Jumble Sale this Saturday 1.PM.

But still my eyes are drawn to him.

Half of me would like him to see me.

Half of me would like to run.

He’s holding what’s left of a roll up fag he was smoking outside. Staring ahead of him, brown eyes the same as mine milky now with age.

Wisps of silver grey hair peep from under his denim cap.

He’s standing at the counter now, next to me I can smell that familiar smell of old Holborn.

I hand the woman my family allowance book, she’s smiling and saying something about the weather.

But I’m straining to hear his voice.

Deep and rasping, so familiar, yet he’s become a stranger to me.

His own doing, he doesn’t know me. He never really did.

My chest tightens, I feel my eyes prick with tears, but I won’t let them come.

Something inside of me desperately wants him to know me.

What Iv’e achieved and who I am.

He doesn’t know what I like, what makes me happy or sad.

What issues I feel passionately about.

That. despite everything I’m a good Mam.

He used to tell me I’d amount to nothing.

Nothing. More than a whore.

Those words are etched into my soul.

That is how I always felt insignificant, ugly, worthless, nothing.

You’ve probably guessed by now the old man in front of me is my Dad.

The same old man who still walks in my dreams.

The man who struck blind terror into the heart of a small child.

Oh Dad I so desperately wanted to please you.

I wanted you to like me.

Sadly I still do.

I find myself fighting to suppress the pity I find myself feeling for him.

My heart beating in my head reminding myself of the holocaust he made my life.

There was a tiny piece of him I loved and adored the sober piece. I always will.

That big man that carried me on his shoulders. Held my hand and walked me to school. Held my bike seat and smiled from ear to ear cheering his little girl as I peddled off on my own.

He taught me to play cards, draughts, let me help him when he’d wallpaper.

Gave me my love for books and the outdoors, taught me to write my name then later shared with me his talent for writing poetry.

He taught me to love nature and the countryside.

As I watched in awe as he’d whispered to horses.

Rescued a blackbird from a hawthorn bush.

Talked of make-believe, fairies and magic castles.

Oh how I loved that tiny piece of him, I still do,

I always will.

I desperately wanted then and now for that piece of him to become his whole.

For god the universe or some miracle to take away the bad piece. I want him to turn my way look at me and tell me he’s sorry.

I want him to hold me tell me everything’s going to be okay.

I want a family.

I want my children to have him as their granddad.

I want them to be safe.

He’s walking out of the door now.

I walk out behind him all of these thoughts buzzing in my head.

I get in my car sit in silence and watch him walk away, and then the tears start to fall.

For the life I can’t have, and the wishes I can’t make come true.

I know I can’t change him from who he is.

To whom I would desperately like him to be.

But I’ll never stop wanting and wishing.

That day in the post office was the very last time I saw him.

Goodbye Dad.

He died a few years later. I didn’t get a sorry..

I didn’t go to his funeral.

Now I’m allowed to break our silence.Monday morning, I’m standing outside the village post office. There’s a middle-aged woman in front of me, in front of her, an old man smoking a rolly. The doors open and the queue move’s inside.

The old man leans on the window ledge as he waits in the Que., he is wearing old blue jeans, and jacket, and a jeans hat.

The lines and scares on his face tell a million stories. Stories of a hard man,, a fighter in his time. Stories of horror,, sadness, hard times, joy and laughter.

I try to concentrate on the posters on the wall. Television licence. First class stamps. Car tax. Premium bonds.

I focus on very brightly coloured poster.

St Hayden school Jumble Sale this Saturday 1.PM.

But still my eyes are drawn to him.

Half of me would like him to see me.

Half of me would like to run.

He’s holding what’s left of a roll up fag he was smoking outside. Staring ahead of him, brown eyes the same as mine milky now with age.

Wisps of silver grey hair peep from under his denim cap.

He’s standing at the counter now, next to me I can smell that familiar smell of old Holborn.

I hand the woman my family allowance book, she’s smiling and saying something about the weather.

But I’m straining to hear his voice.

Deep and rasping, so familiar, yet he’s become a stranger to me.

His own doing, he doesn’t know me. He never really did.

My chest tightens, I feel my eyes prick with tears, but I won’t let them come.

Something inside of me desperately wants him to know me.

What Iv’e achieved and who I am.

He doesn’t know what I like, what makes me happy or sad.

What issues I feel passionately about.

That. despite everything I’m a good Mam.

He used to tell me I’d amount to nothing.

Nothing. More than a whore.

Those words are etched into my soul.

That is how I always felt insignificant, ugly, worthless, nothing.

You’ve probably guessed by now the old man in front of me is my Dad.

The same old man who still walks in my dreams.

The man who struck blind terror into the heart of a small child.

Oh Dad I so desperately wanted to please you.

I wanted you to like me.

Sadly I still do.

I find myself fighting to suppress the pity I find myself feeling for him.

My heart beating in my head reminding myself of the holocaust he made my life.

There was a tiny piece of him I loved and adored the sober piece. I always will.

That big man that carried me on his shoulders. Held my hand and walked me to school. Held my bike seat and smiled from ear to ear cheering his little girl as I peddled off on my own.

He taught me to play cards, draughts, let me help him when he’d wallpaper.

Gave me my love for books and the outdoors, taught me to write my name then later shared with me his talent for writing poetry.

He taught me to love nature and the countryside.

As I watched in awe as he’d whispered to horses.

Rescued a blackbird from a hawthorn bush.

Talked of make-believe, fairies and magic castles.

Oh how I loved that tiny piece of him, I still do,

I always will.

I desperately wanted then and now for that piece of him to become his whole.

For god the universe or some miracle to take away the bad piece. I want him to turn my way look at me and tell me he’s sorry.

I want him to hold me tell me everything’s going to be okay.

I want a family.

I want my children to have him as their granddad.

I want them to be safe.

He’s walking out of the door now.

I walk out behind him all of these thoughts buzzing in my head.

I get in my car sit in silence and watch him walk away, and then the tears start to fall.

For the life I can’t have, and the wishes I can’t make come true.

I know I can’t change him from who he is.

To whom I would desperately like him to be.

But I’ll never stop wanting and wishing.

That day in the post office was the very last time I saw him.

Goodbye Dad.

He died a few years later. I didn’t get a sorry..

I didn’t go to his funeral.

Now I’m allowed to break our silence.Monday morning, I’m standing outside the village post office. There’s a middle-aged woman in front of me, in front of her, an old man smoking a rolly. The doors open and the queue move’s inside.

The old man leans on the window ledge as he waits in the Que., he is wearing old blue jeans, and jacket, and a jeans hat.

The lines and scares on his face tell a million stories. Stories of a hard man,, a fighter in his time. Stories of horror,, sadness, hard times, joy and laughter.

I try to concentrate on the posters on the wall. Television licence. First class stamps. Car tax. Premium bonds.

I focus on very brightly coloured poster.

St Hayden school Jumble Sale this Saturday 1.PM.

But still my eyes are drawn to him.

Half of me would like him to see me.

Half of me would like to run.

He’s holding what’s left of a roll up fag he was smoking outside. Staring ahead of him, brown eyes the same as mine milky now with age.

Wisps of silver grey hair peep from under his denim cap.

He’s standing at the counter now, next to me I can smell that familiar smell of old Holborn.

I hand the woman my family allowance book, she’s smiling and saying something about the weather.

But I’m straining to hear his voice.

Deep and rasping, so familiar, yet he’s become a stranger to me.

His own doing, he doesn’t know me. He never really did.

My chest tightens, I feel my eyes prick with tears, but I won’t let them come.

Something inside of me desperately wants him to know me.

What Iv’e achieved and who I am.

He doesn’t know what I like, what makes me happy or sad.

What issues I feel passionately about.

That. despite everything I’m a good Mam.

He used to tell me I’d amount to nothing.

Nothing. More than a whore.

Those words are etched into my soul.

That is how I always felt insignificant, ugly, worthless, nothing.

You’ve probably guessed by now the old man in front of me is my Dad.

The same old man who still walks in my dreams.

The man who struck blind terror into the heart of a small child.

Oh Dad I so desperately wanted to please you.

I wanted you to like me.

Sadly I still do.

I find myself fighting to suppress the pity I find myself feeling for him.

My heart beating in my head reminding myself of the holocaust he made my life.

There was a tiny piece of him I loved and adored the sober piece. I always will.

That big man that carried me on his shoulders. Held my hand and walked me to school. Held my bike seat and smiled from ear to ear cheering his little girl as I peddled off on my own.

He taught me to play cards, draughts, let me help him when he’d wallpaper.

Gave me my love for books and the outdoors, taught me to write my name then later shared with me his talent for writing poetry.

He taught me to love nature and the countryside.

As I watched in awe as he’d whispered to horses.

Rescued a blackbird from a hawthorn bush.

Talked of make-believe, fairies and magic castles.

Oh how I loved that tiny piece of him, I still do,

I always will.

I desperately wanted then and now for that piece of him to become his whole.

For god the universe or some miracle to take away the bad piece. I want him to turn my way look at me and tell me he’s sorry.

I want him to hold me tell me everything’s going to be okay.

I want a family.

I want my children to have him as their granddad.

I want them to be safe.

He’s walking out of the door now.

I walk out behind him all of these thoughts buzzing in my head.

I get in my car sit in silence and watch him walk away, and then the tears start to fall.

For the life I can’t have, and the wishes I can’t make come true.

I know I can’t change him from who he is.

To whom I would desperately like him to be.

But I’ll never stop wanting and wishing.

That day in the post office was the very last time I saw him.

Goodbye Dad.

He died a few years after this diary entry was written.

Home

Canalside Aberdulais is the place I love to be.

No where near as posh as Brecon

Or Mumbles by the sea.

Our road has a million pot holes

Passing walkers have been know to flea.

When chased by a gaggle of canalside geese

Walking slowly past is the key.

Gargoyles on the cottage wall.

Rosemary by the door

Kitchen you couldn’t swing a cat.

But I couldn’t ask for more.

It’s my little piece of heaven

No where else I’d rather be

Neighbors who are salt of the earth

Who can fix anything with a cup of Welsh tea.

Canalside Aberdulais

There’s no place I’d rather be

Wood burning stove and hubby I love

It’s the simple things that make a home you see ♥️

Home brew Shenanigans

home brew

Everyone on Dad’s side of the family drank heavily raced grey hounds and bet on horses. Even the women!

So to us kids that was just the norm.

My Dads youngest brother (our Peter) was no exception.

He was married to Auntie Aggie they were real characters. Aggie never wore her false teeth although she had been known to cut the edge of a pastry crust with them when baking and she did look a lot older than her years.

The creases on her face always reminded me of yesterdays screwed up chip shop paper. She wore odd sized plastic sponge rollers under a head scarf tied in a neat knot in the middle of her forehead. She swore a lot mostly at Peter. She always had a ciggie in the corner of her mouth which when was finished she would use to light another one from. She always wore her pinny and faded pink slippers the ones with that you slipped over your toes with a fluffy bobbly thing stuck on the front, well I say fluffy maybe when they were new which Aggies weren’t so it was anything but fluffy sort of knotted in need of going in the bin.

Uncle Peter could be found in one of three places. In Rain hill psychiatric hospital drying out from the booze. At home brewing home brew in the kitchen. (Or drinking it!) Or out with my Dad down the club.

I really liked him he was like a younger funny nice version of my dad, he smiled a lot and when he wasn’t smiling he was laughing mostly at Aggie.

Auntie Aggie reckoned if we looked in all three places and didn’t find him he then he definitely was dead! We always managed to find him.

He would get out of bed light a cig and pour a pint. His hair sticking up like a mad professor holes in his jumper from fag burns

The kitchen pantry, under the stairs and the spare bedroom was full of home brew.

Lines of sterilised milk bottles with plastic snap on caps.

I remember him running out of bottles in the middle of a barley wine brew and flagging down the Alpine pop man outside the shop.

Getting him to drop off two crates of bottles in exchange for some of his famous home brew!

He and Dad were well known for their beer. Mam swore they only brewed their own as they had been banned from most of the alehouses in town.

As well as their beer the other thing that was famous was Aggie and Peter’s fights.

I remember vividly walking up the grove were they lived early Saturday morning and being able to hear them three houses away!

I cautiously  pushed open the back door to hear Uncle Peter shouting at Aggie to move all the rubbish from under the bloody sink so he can fit his new batch of brew in.

‘RUBBISH! RUBBISH!’ she yells back. ‘That’s me best pots and pans!’

She is in full swing now and I just manage to duck out of the way as a handle less pan, which finds its target catching uncle Peter with a loud thud on his head!

‘You bloody madwoman! Luna-bloody tic!

‘You want locking up you do your pots for bloody rags!’ he’s standing there rubbing the side of his head!

‘Oh its me that’s pots for rags is it!’

She’s nearer now and she belts him on the other side with another pan!

I manage to duck under her raised arm into the living room were Colin and Phil sit obliviously in front of the telly.

‘Who do you think you are Greenall’s bloody brewery?’

‘Get out of this house and take all those bottles with you your nothing but a piss artist!’

The back door opens again and there is the sound of glass smashing!

‘Are you coming out?’ I ask? Colin

He raises his eyes to the ceiling and stretches. ‘Aye I may as well they are at it AGAIN!’

‘Well at least they talk to each other’ I hear myself say feebly.

‘My Mam and Dad won’t even speak to each other’

He laughs ‘I wish they wouldn’t maybe we could all have some bloody Peace.’ He sits up takes one of Aggies fags and lights it. ‘Want a drag?’

‘No! it stinks!’ I say pulling my face he laughs ‘Come on soft arse.’

The back door bangs and we watch Aggie scurrying down the front path still chunnering as she goes. Uncle Peter sticks his head down round the living room door. ‘Here you two get in here and help me finish these bottles afore she gets back. She’s gone down the shop for fags.’

‘Good laughs Colin I smoked the last one!’

Phil goes reluctantly into the kitchen I follow perching myself on a stool in

The corner.

Uncle Peter had made a massive vat of barley wine and is siphoning it into sterilised bottles. Taking great care not to screw on the tops too tight so that the gas had room to escape as the wine continued to ferment in the bottle

He is shouting at Phil to hurry up and make some space at the back of the pantry so that Aggie won’t realise there was more brew in there.

Colin hands the bottles to Phil who put the bottles into the back of the pantry. He winked at me and nodded at the bottle as he tightened the cap as he moved them.

I laughed nervously!

‘She’ll never know!’ laughs Uncle Peter rubbing his head were the pan had hit him earlier.

He had just moved the last of the bottles as Aggie walked in the back door.

‘Hiya Mam’ piped up our Colin. ‘Brought us any toffee’s?’

‘Never mind bloody toffees where’s me cig packet you little thief.’ she clipped

him before he can answer.

Phil laughs

‘And what have you done with all that ale you pissing alcoholic!’ she carried on where she had left off before the trip to the shop.

Peter is standing there grinning like a Cheshire cat!

‘I’ve poured it down the sink my bloody Queen!’

‘Your right my love no more ale.

I’m brewing no more.

When we’ve drunk what we’ve got my love that’s it!’

‘You awful bloody liar!’

‘You pour ale down the sink bloody never!’

‘I know your lying I can smell it now where is it!’

Peter is belly laughing now I  try not to giggle. ‘You can smell what?’ he says theatrically.

‘It must be your top lip rotting my love!

That’s what you get for not wearing your bloody teeth!’

Its no good I heard myself laugh.

Aggie flies at him hitting him with anything that’s handy.

We stand in the doorway shaking laughing.

Before I know what had hit me she had spun round and clipped us too!

We are down the path and out of the street like a shot!

Id rather fight next doors bull terrier than have a slap of me Mam says our Phil as we collapse on the grass laughing and I have to agree.

Alfie.

Rebel Lodger

His name was Alfie.

Quite a character.

Alf ya bastard I’d heard folks curse him.

Short wiry with goatee beard.

Beautiful eyes, black lined just like a Pharos.

He would look sideways at most folk and animals with contempt like suspicion.

He came into my life quite unexpectedly with all the chaos and unpredictability of a hurricane.

He had been living in Manchester with a scruffy old guy who had reached the end of his tether and decided enough is enough.

I’m too old to put up with such an unruly bad mannered rebel of a lodger

I can’t cope with him he sighed.

I’ve warned him time and time again.

He was fighting in the street again last night.

Last week he didn’t come home for three days.

Out chasing another lass.

The blonde woman from the chip shop came shouting the odds.

Her girl is pregnant

She’s not best pleased I know he’s only young but I can’t see him changing.

A tear ran down his face.

He’s just got to go he has to move out.

And so that’s how it happened young rebel Alfie moved in with me.

Everything the old man described and more.

Fighting, running away

I’d lie awake and worry.

The sun would rise and I’d open the curtains there he would be.

Bold as brass.

Lying on the lawn

Not a care in the world.

I’d open the door.

Where have you been?

He would look at me with those big eyes

I could never stay mad for long

He was brilliant with my kids.

I knew he would protect them with his life.

They all grew up together.

The years rolled by

We were now inseparable.

He traveled everywhere with me. I couldn’t trust him to stay anywhere else whilst I was away

Scotland, London. Cornwall.

My children grew up left home.

Alf and I settled in Wales.

We loved the mountains and valleys spend lots of time exploring.

Twenty years had passed.

Alfie my rebel best friend.

He loved our canal side cottage.

That’s where he ended his days

I thought my heart would break.

Alfie, you taught me patience tolerance and unconditional love.

My little patter dale terrier.

You made paw prints on my heart.

That will never fade

Life is beautiful but sometimes unbareably hard.

I watch her smile at our grand daughter.
Struggling to hold her beside her as she lies in bed.
Her daughter Sarah and my son Michaels baby.
She and I have been best friends since they were children.
My random friend
Questions like could we keep a penguin in the bath?
The kind of friends that know each other well.
Our likes and dislikes
We laugh at the same things
Don’t get me wrong we have had our disagreements.
Passionate arguments.
But when push came to shove we both knew we could always depend on the other.
Forever friends.
We would joke about riding on old people scooters
I always hoped that Sarah and Mike would get together.
I loved Donna’s kids like my own.
And last year my meddling worked.
Not how I would have planned it but here we are.
And it is what it is.
You see we hadn’t seen each other for awhile we had texted but not seen each other for a year.
I work as a soulmidwife.
Companion to terminally ill.
On my way out of the hospital ward I was visiting I saw her there Donna.
Admitted with pain she had suffered with for awhile.
She had text and bllamed it on work, pushing wheel chairs lifting patients
But after two weeks she was diagnosed.
Cancer.
We fell back into step. Like we had never been apart.
We met the week after in the park engineered to have mike and Sarah with us.
Eighteen months later they are together.
We have Emilia our beautiful grand daughter.
She is the positive light that has kept Donna fighting.
Two rounds of chemotherapy she has been amazing.
I’m in awe of how brave she is.
Two months ago we flew to Corfu.
I stood on the deck of a boat watched as she swam in the bluest of seas warm sun.
White sands her long black hair shining
She was so happy
We visited old Corfu town, sat in small seafood restaurants by the sea.
Drank cocktails. Laughed danced and sang.
We didn’t speak of cancer.
What a difference two months can make.
This is my job I deal with it all the time.
There isn’t anything I can’t deal with
But
I don’t want to deal with this
For a month she has been complaining of pain in her liver. Twice admitted
Jaundice, codine, oramorph.
More pain
I stayed over with her last night
Eyes yellow tired and scared.
Reassured her that no matter what I’m there
I promise I’m by her side.
I promise her that her sister and I will look after the kids.
I will love Emilia enough for both of us.
I will help her make memory boxes
Write birthday cards, graduation wedding, and letters.
Of course I will. I love her.
I hold her hand in mine.
She falls asleep against me.
As she sleeps I feel her breathing rise and fall
Her hair is damp from my tears.
I pull the covers around her kiss her gently
Visualise myself watching her swim and smile in the blue sea
On our next holiday in the sun

Dark moon, dark goddess Hekate

On this night of the dark moon

You, my child stand before me to hear my words.

You search yourself only to find it is I that is your shadow

I am the Lady of Shade.

Devourer, consumer, Queen of all that is barren.

I am the great huntress who guides you to you dark places.

I am she who you fear to gaze upon

And so, for now, my face remains veiled.

I am the midnight ocean, A liquid, deep, dark, unfurling shadow.

I wash against the night time sky and upon my surface lays the beauty of the heavens

To face me is to face your deepest fears.

To accept me is to accept your own limitations.

To know me is to touch limitless knowledge

To love me is to love the parts of yourself that until now have known only hate and intolerance

I am she who brings fear and washes it away.

My strength is beyond that of any man or God so do not approach me with a feint heart.

Within my womb lies infinite possibility For within the dark void is all that is, was, and can be.

Life before mobile phones and I pads


Were our summers longer?
In the days when there were no mobile phone or games consoles
As a child I all through the school holidays i would leave the house after rushing breakfast or taking it with me,
Running through the woods with a piece of burnt toast in my hand
Toby my dog at my heel
Heading for the huge oak tree at the top of the hill that held our rope swing.

Huge and beautiful ever changing I loved that tree swinging climbing sitting in it’s branches with a book. When we had rope for a swing and a good strong stick I’d sit with my back pressed against it huge trunk at least five feet wide watching as friends swung out over the high drop where the stream ran below.
Bright pink rhodadendron bushes and spiky Holly would break our fall if we fell.
Red Sandy soil tall green grass bright blue sky.
It wasn’t a massive woodland and it was in the middle of a council estate but it was our paradise I loved it.
When it was my turn I’d grab the thick blue rope and swing as high as I could. Legs strieght out leaning back, long hair blowing in the warm summer breeze and for a few minutes I was free, I was flying.

The stream meandered below we would build dams from large stones and sticks the lads would steal cargo nets off the lorries that would park up on east lancs road
Then they would tie them high up between four trees we would bounce about up there it was more luck than our knot tying skills that prevented us from falling!
Crank caverns we’re a few miles from the estate another favourite place I loved it there I’d often set off with a Terry prachett book a bottle of water and walk the few miles spend the day up there.
The lane to the caverns started between two old farm houses Mrs Hewitt one of our teachers lived in one with her daughter Sally she would wave as I passed by. Behind her house where the horses fields and the most beautiful Chestnut mare I’d stop for a chat feeding her handfuls of lush green grass from my side of the fence she couldn’t quite reach. Her warm breath and soft nuzzle rubbing against my face
If I was lucky enough to have custard cream buiscuits I’d share them too and she would rest her huge head on my shoulder and I’d tell her anything and everything. Dogs and horses were always my confidants.
The next part of the walk was through beautiful golden fields thin strieght path through swaying wheat fields I’d sometimes walk into the field and lie down in a cocoon of earthy smelling golden wheat corn or barley reading my book I never felt alone or afraid.
Often falling asleep book in hand . Thankfully never when the combine was working
The caverns (caves) we’re in a small valley surrounded by a small dence disiduous woodland
Trees so close there was places that where almost darkness then another few steps bright sunlight flooded in. I would try to have one food in dark the other in light. Shady and cool on a hot summers day
It was said that the caves were once connected to a hall in Rainford the next village over the years they had become blocked but I would still venture inside as far as I could go.
Feeling my way along the cold stone graffitied walls.

The energy inside there was palpable.
They fasanated me.
I’d stay as long as possible lighting a small fire as night closed in.

No light pollution the sky on a clear night was light a black stary blanket only the sound of crickets and shuffle of nocturnal creatures hedgehogs foxes Badgers
Earthy smell of fallen leaves and thick grass that seemed to grow moss like that was often my bed.
I always slept well outside.
I’m sure this magical place sparked my absolute love of camping, walking and being outside any chance I have.
If you have ever been woken gently by the dawn chorus around you, you’ll know what I mean.
All this magic I was around eleven years old no one missed me whilst I was gone and I know look on that as a blessing.
I always had my dog and carried a small folding pen knife gifted to me by my Nan.
She gave it to me with a wink and a ‘dont tell your mam.’
I’d pull up a swede or carrots peel and eat vegetables taste amazing when eaten as you pick them .
In the next village Rainford there was a huge field of peas
They are one of nicest sweetest things I’ve ever eaten. I’d walk home with my pockets full.
Do my chores then leave again for another adventure.
I’m so very glad I was a sixty’s child
For life was and continues to be beautiful if you go outside look at the sky walk touch the earth talk to animas connect with guardian trees lie in fields of gold
It’s never too late. What are you waiting for?

Mountain adventures.

The pathway up the mountain started at two tall trees of oak,

Tamika thought they were like two huge gateposts–and at a single stoke

she walked between them–it was like entering another world–a shiver went through her frame

it was like walking under arches or beneath a waterfall after rain.

It was as if it was a crossroad into some very special place

and strangely for a moment she felt her heartbeat race.

This could be the place where magic happened–even fairies may live here,

and it was a really lovely morning for walking with her dog Saffie who was always near.

It was one of her favourite places, where she liked to walk

she would stand and listen, and Saffie was always near –if she wished to talk.

She walked with a large canopy of green leaves over her head

and then realized that she wished to walk in the sun instead.

She felt someone was watching her–but she felt no alarm

and as Saffie sniffed around she knew Saffie, would not let her come to harm.

She wondered happily among the big flat leaved trees

with squirrels birds and hedgehogs, she was completely at ease.

She was looking away down at her village–the river running through it, like a silver thread,

the town hall clock the folly on the hill when she thought she heard a voice within her head,

it said ‘’Excuse me miss’’, it sounded rather hoarse and she immediately-dismissed it of course,

but Saffie’s ears had pricked up, which meant that she had heard it too

she looked all around but there was no body in view.

Then the voice said ‘’Hay I am up here’’ and on a branch of an Hawthorne tree

was a man no larger than her hand, who said ‘’I am so glad that you can see me’’.

He jumped down and landed at her feet brushing off his clothes he was very neat

with tiny trousers coat and bracers too, so perfect and so petite

Tamika stopped and rubbed her eyes-because although small, he was a big surprise

He said ‘’I wasn’t sure my shields were down so that you could see me’’.

Saffie sniffed him curiously–them licked him self consciously

he giggled and said ‘’Stop it, you are making me all wet.

But if Saffie was happy Tamika was too–the little man was not a threat

Saffie continued licking, the little man said it tickled too,

Tamika said ‘’So you have to lower your shields, so that I can see you’’.

He said ‘’I know you are Tamika and you are with Saffie I see’’.

Tamika looked at the little man asking ‘’how do you know me’

‘’All of the fairies have known you since you were a baby

and I’ve always watched your visits although you could not see me’’.

Tamika said ‘’All the fairies, are there more, what do you all do’’

he said his name was Simon, he was the water guardian, and of course there were more.

Tamika said had never believed in fairies, why had she not seen one before?

‘’It’s because people no longer enjoy nature, the streams and animals are not valued as before,

when did you last roll in the grass or jump a puddle, that is what puddles are for.

You are all so busy with computers and TV they don’t see them any more,

you are surrounded by what we look after–the mountain which we live underneath.

And you coming here today is such a huge relief’’.

But before she could ask him what he meant, another voice said ‘’Hello Tamika I am Holly, I look after the trees’’

she was no bigger than Simon with lovely flowing silver hair

and she explained that there were fairies for water fire flowers and even for air.

and they had a problem with Simons water, she went on to tell

that the tree that she was sitting on blew down and into the river it fell.

‘’I allowed the wind to blow too hard, I am Jake the guardian of air’’ his voice was full of stress

Simon said ‘’He’s full of wind and didn’t take enough care–and now we are in a mess’’.

‘’The tree has dammed the river, which feeds the royal well,

and they were not big enough to move it’’ they were ashamed to tell,

She asked what they would do, if the well was dry–they didn’t have very long

Holly said that they thought her and Saffie both looked pretty strong.

‘’If you tie her lead to the tree we ‘ll sprinkle her with flying dust,

we shouldn’t really ask you but we know you are someone we can trust.

Saffie let out a bark–to indicate that she would help

if she hadn’t been willing, instead of a bark she would have let out a yelp.

They tied Saffie’s lead around the tree and Michael whispered in her ear,

and climbed upon her back holding on to her collar– he was quite pale with fear

He sprinkled something on her, from a bag around his neck

and to see that every thing was alright he looked around to check.

he climbed off and told Saffi ‘’ It’s okay. follow me’’ ,and Tamika turned around

shocked to see her lovely dog was floating above the ground.

By flying, in less than a minute Saffie had moved the tree

and straight away the water was once more flowing free.

Then Tamika had a shock because a cheer filled the air

she looked around and found that there were fairies every where.

All of them were smiling on every bush and branch and tree

and on the tree they’d moved stood a couple dressed so regally.

‘’Tamika Tiger’’ said the king and they all cheered again

for now the well would refill when ever there was rain.

He said ‘’Tamika thank you-and the queen wished to give a reward’’

‘’We will make you an honoury guardian’’ the others cheered with one accord

‘’Really’’ said Tamika and Saffie wagged her tail

both of them so happy that their effort did not fail

She was told, we have always watched you— you have much love in your heart,

for the mountain and all it is, you have always done your part.

You love the birds and animals the bushes trees and stream,

you pick up other people’s litter to help keep the mountain clean.

You didn’t even know, that you helped us in our task

and so if ever you are in need of help you only have to ask.

’’But how will I ever find you’’–Michael said ‘’To whisper at the old oak gate

and the wind will answer, and please make it soon–don’t leave it too late’’.

When you come to see us again we will show you the fairy land down below.

But now we have to say goodbye, it’s time for you and us to go’’

He waved his stick and they all vanished and were gone,

leaving Tamika happy knowing such a friendship would go on.

They both went down the mountain path, to have their teas

and a hundred voices said ‘’see you soon’’ as they passed the old oak trees.

She was smiling ,knowing she could visit any time

and for such friendship and such pleasure it would be well worth the climb.

Old weathered hands and treadle sewing machine


Old Weathered Hands.
I think its human nature when we lose someone we love our greatest fear is forgetting the simple things about them.
The sound of their voice, their smell, precious memories.
However in reality I’ve discovered as I have grown older I’ve remember more not less.
Lizzie my Nan I remember her long thin silver hair.
Gold heavy creole earrings weighing down her tiny earlobes, her faded blue apron my little Nanny.
Little but loud, northern salt of the earth she always said it exactly as it was.
Most of all I remember her smile.
How she would pretend to be annoyed when I’d shout Nanny at the top of my voice through the letterbox at all hours of the day and night. Her house was my sanctuary the smell of furniture polish and hotpot.
I’d watch her as I held up the flap of the letterbox as she hurried down the hall exclaiming ‘Jesus, Mary and bloody Joseph, I hear you calling in my bloody sleep! I’m changing my bloody name to Rumplestitskin!
I remember her baking cheese onion and bacon pies on tin plates and egg custard tarts on a Sunday.
She would send me to the outdoor at the flying horse pub with a empty jug to have filled with stout old tea towel to cover the jug. Id try to walk back without spilling it sneaking a mouthful as I walked.
Our trips round to the shops she would carefully apply her tangerine lipstick and tie her checked hair scarf the we would call into the bookies for her each way bet then the butchers for bacon ribs and the paper shop for twenty John player specials.
Bingo was on a Friday night down in the church hall park street in fingerpost
Me and my cousins Gary and Phillip on one side of the table nan and her friend Lizzie Ducker on the other.
She would give me a card to mark.
‘Nudge me if your sweating’.. she would say.
I’d be terrified!
Smokey church hall jesus on his cross watching the bingo. Womens eyes fixed on bingo tickets biros moving quickly scribbling out numbers.
‘House’! Someone would shout and there would be a sigh from everyone else.
Walking home we would call in the chippy bag of salty chips in yesterday’s newspaper between us.
Then home tired ready for bed my cousins in back bedroom, I would be snuggled up warm in Nanny’s bed beside her. The weight of old blankets and coats with silk lining to keep us warm.
I still have a piece of that overcoat lining.
Silhouette of leaded windows on the wall beside the bed reflected from the old street light on the peeling blue flowered wallpaper.
Sometimes I’d go to bed before Nanny. Lying there listening in the dark whilst she stayed up late to sew on her old Jones treadle sewing machine.
The sound of that treadle was magical as she worked to make me dresses it often lulled me to sleep.
The simple things. Her old biscuit boxes one full of photos. The other full of buttons both full of stories.
Stories of her family friends the man across the street who had got stuck in a tin bath.
A big faded button from a coat she had worn that my grandfather had bought her she held it in her hand like a diamond eyes closed smile on her face transported back to him.
Photos of child she had raised and loved as her own as well as her own three sons.
Photos of my grandfather who I knew from her story telling not from memory as he’d died when I was too young to remember.
She taught me many things my Nan, pastry making, sewing, names of plants herbs, that when I got nettled there would be a dock leaf to fix the sting not far from the nettle. To star gaze fortune tell and to always bide time never to act on temper.
How to win at cards although I never managed to win her once.
I remember combing her hair and sitting running my finger along the back of her brown weathered hand, tracing the blue veins of her old working hands grafters hands.
As I sit her now holding my granddaughters hands looking at my own hand in hers it is brown weathered blue veins meander and they tell my story.
Beautiful childen Tamika Tiger and Emilia Willow I wonder what your memories of me your Nanny will be?
I hope you will remember my old weathered hands and how much you made me smile.

Release me..

Huge mechanical monster lunges,

Clenches it’s massive jaws together tight unbudging.

I’m held in the most unnatural vice like grip I push either side but the struggle is futile I’m trapped.

Warm foam like saliva drips from it’s hungry looking lips.

I sit still bolt upright.

Unmoving praying for it to let go.

Waiting for it to move.

Eyes wide head unmoving glancing from side to side.

I wonder ‘Is it dead?’

Nothing.

Someone please help.

It makes a sound a low groan almost pitiful.

No one comes.

There is no other choice.

I need help now.

I sound my horn.

Please someone release me from this dying carwash

New tale of Olympus

Long ago when the world was young and the

battles for the universe between the Titans and

the gods had ended, the gods met with each

other at the foot of Mount Olympus.

They gathered to decide how they were going

to divide the spoils of war.

They deliberated about lands, animals, and other things under their domain until finally it was time to decide which humans they would champion.

First spoke Zeus, king of the gods.

“I will take those humans who rule over others and make the laws, men of prestige and significance.

They will embrace justice in my name.”

Then spoke Hera, queen of the gods.

“I shall have the married women for my own and

those women who are pregnant or mothers.

They shall find succor and solace under my

patronage.”

Then spoke Ares, lord of war.

“I will take the warriors and men of battle. I shall

heap glory upon them all.”

Athena, goddess of wisdom, said on to the

other gods: “I shall take the strategists, crafters,

and lords of commerce.

They shall thrive with the blessing of my wisdom.”

Then spoke Poseidon.

“I shall have the sailors and fishermen and bless

them with the use of my ocean.”

Then announced Hades, “I shall take the dead

that come to Tartarus and the Elysian Fields;

they shall suffer or be pleased in measure of

their past lives.”

Aphrodite said, “The lovers will be mine and

those with shining beauty. I will grace them with

fertility.”

So on and on the Olympians chose the best and

brightest of their own perspective fields of

influence and enhanced each one’s blessings.

In the end there were groups of people who did

not fit these groups.

These beings trembled and quaked

unknowingly as each god passed them by.

Then as it seemed all gods had made

their choices, from the darkness came Hekate.

The Titan who was still revered by all the gods

even after their war.

She looked at those still left to be taken. Her compassion moved her to speak.

“Greatest of gods, hear me. You have made

your choices, and now I would make mine. I

shall take all who have been left behind.

The not chosen, the unwanted, the seemingly

unredeemable, the outcasts, the poor, the malformed, the victim, the homeless,

the lost, the murderer,

I shall take them and guide them with my torches out of the darkness.

I shall witness acts of violence both to bring compassion to the souls perpetrating and the victims to bring justice and succor in kind.

I shall take the shades and specters, those who can’t find their way, to help them finish their business and I shall lead them home.

I shall take the unloved and scorned and hold them dear.

I will remind them all of the power of choice, the wisdom of necessity, and the love of my compassion.

All the gods were shocked at this choice. They

saw how they had chosen only those who were

bright reflections of themselves and their

greatness.

They had forgotten the lowly souls

who needed them most. Hearing this

compassionate choice, Zeus was moved.

“For this act of compassion and wisdom, I shall

bless you alone Hekate with status above the

other gods.

I offer you three boons: You shall

have the power that I have to grant any wish

that is petitioned of you.

I shall give you rulership and free passage over a place in Tartarus below…

Also the world of men and the sea, and the sky.

so you may be with any who need you.

Hekate I give you the keys to all kingdoms.

Lastly I give you the power to chose your last boon.

As I will.. it is so!”

Hekate replied: “I thank you, Lord Zeus, for this

boon.

I shall tell the people of the world that if

ever they should need a thing and wish to

petition me, let them go to the crossroads

that are my sacred space, with a meal as offering

and their wish written on a slip and left under the dish.

They shall leave both at the crossroads and

turn away and not look back until they are

home.

This meal shall feed the dogs and the poor and the homeless and I shall look on them with favor of what they truly need.

“For my boon I ask for a race of my own that

shall like me span all the races and be born to

all.

They shall be born with the potential to

bring success in love, to curse or bless,

to speak to beasts, to converse and congress with spirits, to command the weather, to cast out blight,

to read the messages of the starry heaven, to see the future, to conjure treasure and fortune,

to heal the sick, and kill despair.

Some shall be born and some shall be remade.

They shall be all manner of people and trades.

They shall be called Witches and may be loved or hated, and live between to shape them to

necessity.

They shall aid me in my great work

to aid the forgotten and the rest of man.”

And so it was decided.

The gods

stood on the Mount of Olympus holding hands

and said: “As we will it, so shall it be!”

Act your age..

Twilight spun its magical web upon the land, fireflies and faeries dancing together in the fields. The night-song of the forest had begun awakening the nocturnal melodies in the branches and setting the darkness alight with music. The Moon was a crescent pendant hung low around the sky goddess’ neck, offering a thin veil of silver painting the tips of the leaves.

Seated in front of me, casting a wise eye to the skies above, drawing down some unseen ancient and mystical knowing, sat The Crone. She seemed to become an extension of the moonlight that spilled upon her platinum tresses and over her shoulders elegantly like a mystic queen donning a cape of pure starlight.

“Child, they will never stop telling you to act your age, they do it to me often. And my reply has always been the same: I will act the age my soul sees fit. If you take issue with that, then I suggest you turn away and take your leave, because I’m not going to betray my heart and sacrifice myself on the fires of your expectation,”she stated emphatically.

“You see,” she continued, “there are some that look down their nose at the ages of women, thinking once we reach a certain age, we are past a certain use, an invisible line in the sand set there by the binding chains of the patriarchal mindset.

I always ask these people, why then do they celebrate the sacred sights that adorn the Earth, the ancient monuments of magic that stand from a time long ago? Why do they pay reverence at places that were used in ritual and worship many moons ago?

They are powerful portals of deep wisdom and magic, they reply. Exactly the same as women, is what I say to them. The power grows and builds within these ancient marvels of the Earth; there is no cap on it with age. It is the same with the Divine Feminine.

They try to take our power by means of shame or ignorance, but it doesn’t take our power, child, it takes theirs. And like the sacred places wild and raw with ancient sacred power, we stand still and grow with each passing day.”

The Crone stared into the fire, her wise eyes eternal and sparkling. “Child,” she said, “I grow my hair long, though many have told me to wear hair like this is solely for the maiden. I am still a maiden at heart and I will keep my hair all my days if that is what I wish, for I follow no rules set before me from society and perceptions of others. To each woman, it is a choice how we decorate our sacred temple, not the decision of any other.

They would tell me to color the grey from my tresses as well to conform to an ideal that serves to wash women of their power. For all the world I would not give up these strands of magic. Would you give away such treasure, such majesty, so easily, I ask them. Why do you fear age and wisdom and would have me hide from your eyes?
My head is my crown and from it flows strands of silver mirroring the hue of the full moon light, the gossamer mists that part on the waters edge, and the thundering powerful clouds in the sky before a storm. Watch those who try to get you to conform and bow, my child; more than likely, they are trying to take the crown of silver from your head

Destiny & Star Dust

Destiny In the emencity

Of gravity

In an endless galaxy

It simply

Amazes me

Truly

How I’m drawn

To thee

Lost in far space

And star dust

On your face

A constellation

In my eyes

I lustfully

Traced

Right back

To this place

Right back to this time

When I became yours

And you became mine

Futures entwine

A creation divine

So thankful for the day

You and I

Would collide.

A new generation

Come with me on a journey back in time, To a northern rural village the year is 1969. It’s a bright and beautiful summers day.

I shall tell you the story as it was told to me by Lilly

She was seventeen years old. She loved the beautiful meadow and sitting on the banks of the stream dangling her feet into the water I guess I’m a bit of a loner She would say she but she didn’t mind her own company and loved being outdoors wondering through woodlands never caught her with shoes on her feet. Barefoot wind in her hair that was Lilly.

The breeze was warm and gently swaying the willow tree on the opposite bank of the stream it’s was late afternoon but the sun was still up there shining brightly and the sky was cloudless and blue.

I’d been been sitting watching the water running over the smooth pebbles she told me The water seemed to glisten and shine in the sunlight the reflection of the willow stretches across to me I was thinking of Alice stepping through the looking glass into a magical land. You know somewhere better than here? I know I’m a day dreamer she continued but then something caught her eye.

Who’s that? There across she caught her breath rubbed her eyes was it heat shimmer from the water?

there watching her beside the willow tree was something at first glance she couldn’t quite make sense of

She rubbed her eyes and squinted. Then rubbed them again. A being a tall almost bird like being or was it?

Sparkling almost iridescent skin, crystal like. Shimmering like the stream running over the pebbles.

Perhaps I’m seeing things she thought.

It seemed to fade in and out of focus, blend in and out of the surroundings almost camouflaged.

Much taller than Lilly longer arms and fingers, it has wings on her back that seamed to retract she was very beautiful.

Lilly stood up slowly then bravely began to paddle across towards the willow tree.

It didn’t move tilted it’s head slightly watching her approach almost curiously

‘Who are you?’ she asked..? Climbing onto the bank beside her.

The being reached out and placed her fingers on Lilly’s forehead. There was a static like buzz.

Standing together barefoot on that grassy bank

Visions started to flood between them like a fibre optic connection.

Lilly gasped as she saw seven tiny stars a small consolation light years away beautiful star people peaceful tribes healers teachers, landscapes of purple topped mountains, waterfalls lush green valleys huge yew like trees and an aray of beautiful amimals

Lilly sighed and whispered Koraki that’s your name?.

The beautiful being nodded and smiled their energy arced together. Her eyes where the most beautiful shade of green like purest Jade. Lilly felt absence of peace and safety she had never known.

Why are you here Lilly thought. Koraki answered her question yet no words were spoken between them

She was a traveller fearless explorer a bringer of light collecting samples of plants and herbs she had been to earth many times it was not unlike her own planet but our species caused her tribe sadness our primitive behaviour humans killing each other and destroying the planet they live on.

She and others like her had also come here to to plant seeds of hope and enlightenment to help awaken humans to enlighten them to heal and save their beautiful mother planet. A new generation of star children.

As the sun began to set darkness fell.

a huge dark moon in an ink black sky and the stars twinkled like diamonds and Koraki iridescent crystalline skin.

She pointed up to the sky to a small cluster of stars barely visible.

That’s home that where you came from? Asked Lilly.

She sighed, ‘Can I come with you?’

Koraki gently touched her forehead again.

‘No spaceships, these beautiful beings travelled through consciousness in the blink of an eye at the speed of light. Like beautiful iridescent white Ravens

‘She then showed Lilly a vision of herself holding a baby girl a star seed.

‘My child? a star child asked Lilly but how.

They stood opposite each other Koraki held up the palms of her hands the palms seemed to pulse and swirl spiral iridescent pure white shining light.

Lilly held up her hands much smaller against Koraki a ball of lights around them glowed she had never felt such love and hope. Their two worlds where connected the joining of two tribes.

Lilly told me she had slept peacefully on that warm summer’s night under the willow tree by the stream.

She was woken by the warmth of the sun and the babbling of the stream a Raven cawed above her and she thought she heard Koraki whisper she would protect her child and she would indeed see her again.

The following spring the baby girl Koraki had gifted her was born seed of the star people.

Outside the window a raven cawed as my mother Lilly gently cradled my in her arms.

She never lost her love for the outdoors and walking barefoot with the wind in her hair.

She passed all that on to me

She told me stories of Alice through the looking glass but this one of Koraki and my star tribe is my favourite

‘I’m a mountain wondering lover of stories Ravens and all things magical I’m a soul midwife and healer

On a summers day you’ll find me with a book sitting under the willow tree feet dangling in the stream

On a dark moon you will find me barefoot on the mountain crossroads looking up to a tiny constellation of stars

Home.

Meditation or dream?

After my evening talk with my lady I fall into bed asking for the bliss of sleep which has eluded me this week.

I drift off but I’m woken by a tapping on the front door.

I go downstairs followed by Saffie cautiously open the door There before me is my lady Hekate she smiles and steps into my house.

As always I am struck by her beauty and although no words are spoken she tells me to collect what I need from around me.

She opens the door for us to leave. I look around its 3am where are we going?

I pick up my ritual bag and call Saffie we follow Hekate along the tow path catching in with her step her staff on the ground is the only sound of the night, her cloak seems to blow behind her although there is no breeze.

As we reach the top of my street she smiles we are standing on the cross road.

‘Your mountain’ I ask?

‘Yours’ she answers.

We walk the familiar path Saffie and Hekates hound like two shadows walking in step like two shadows before us.

As we reach the mountain she removes the hood of her cloak.

I feel that familiar knot in my belly.

She holds up her torch to the familiar wall of granite she moves the torch points back at the way we have walked together.

No words are spoken but no I don’t want to go back.

She smiles you have all the tools you need my child.

I open my bag take out my robe undress but the robe has gone.

I look at her she smiles ‘Open the gateway you are safe here’

I take out my blade. ‘It isn’t finished.’ I here myself say handing it to her feeling foolish as the words leave my mouth.

She takes it and as the polished copper glints despite the darkness of the new moon the yew handle seems to be transformed into part of her hand.

She holds it out to me and for a second our hand is one.

I feel a bolt of energy surge through me she nods

‘It is finished.’ she says.

‘Do not fear my daughter.’

I draw a line along the wall of granite the width of us both, as we stand before this mighty mountain.

A gateway opens and there is loud roar of water fierce and rapid through the archway a wooden bridge visible spanning over a fierce river below.

She holds up her torch taps her staff and both dogs lie either side of the gateway.

My bag beside her Saffie looks the other way.

I follow my lady across the bridge. she stops as I reach the middle the shadow stops and the bridge seems half light half dark.

We stand there betwixt and between watch the rush of water passing bellow us in the shadows.

The water splashes and rushes on logs and sticks are tossed this way and that.

I breath in and smell the wet earth and leaves but feel safe here on the bridge.

In the faint glow of Hekates torches

Hekate steps into the darkness her torch seems to dim but still she lights my way.

‘What can you hear she asks?’

As we walk deeper into the cave I stand still and listen the water runs down shiny red tinted walls reminding me of blood. With a metallic essence I can taste it in the spray.

‘I hear the rushing of the river mother.’

‘Then quieten it she tells me gently.’

I breath in close my eyes feeling the earth beneath my feet the sound seems to hush.

‘Now what do you hear?’

‘I hear magic the growth of the roots, Journeys of animals and insects of life I hear the earth all around us and I hear your heart beat mother.’

She wraps one side of her cloak around me. ‘Our heartbeat child.’

‘When you call me look within yourself and around yourself land sea and sky we are one I am always here.’

‘The paths you have walked I have always lit but you have always chosen.’

She holds up her torch to a familiar door scratched in the peeling paint is ‘keep out’ in ballpoint pen.

It’s my childhood bedroom door.

She nods the choice is mine I open the door step inside.

I’m not afraid.

Humpy Dumpty beer ad posters still on the wall purple curtains on a droopy wire green carpet I spin around on the tallboy cupboard is my old record player I hear myself laugh AC/DC’ Let there be Rock’ album is on the turntable next to it on the bedside table are a pile of sticks acorns and feathers are just where I had left them.

I walk over to the curtains and pull them open birdsong fills the room the old oak tree outside my bedroom window stands blowing in the breeze like an old friend. I can smell the cut grass and sunshine I see the old gate leading into the woods behind the house where I had climbed trees built dens, read my favourite books escaping to magic lands like disc world and Neverland.

I turn around and there on the bed is my Nan wearing her apron long silver hair tied back shopping bag by her feet my old dogs lady, Toby, and lucky wagging their tails pleased to see me. I catch my breath ‘Nanny!’ I hear myself say and a tear runs down my cheek.

‘I’m not bloody staying’ she says laughing,

I hug her ‘Nanny I’m sorry’ ‘What bloody for now?’ she says wiping my tears.

‘For not being there when you died for not being at your funeral dad wouldn’t let me come. I came to the cemetery stood on the hill I watched from behind the tree.’ I cried again on her apron as I have so many other times.

‘I know you did my girl I was there with you behind that tree.’

We hug for quite some time I’ve missed her everything about her I inhale the essence of her I feel safe.

‘Let me look at you.’ She says.

She holds me away from her and smiles. You can still smell the sunshine and the storms she laughs. I nod.

A hundred beautiful memories flash before me like old photographs ‘What was that?’ I ask.

‘Love’ she answers.

‘You did it my Lass what did I always tell you?’

‘Trust the universe that was love.’

She wiped my face as I hugged my dogs.

As I stand up I’m bigger than my little Nan now.

She picks up her old shopping bag pats my dogs blows me a kiss and they are gone.

Leaving nothing but the pile of sticks acorns and leaves.

I sit on my bed listening to the buzz of summer outside and the heartbeat of me and my lady I can feel everything I whisper.

The door swings open I walk over to my lady and

we leave.

The door seems to melt back into the granite wall leaving no trace that it was ever there.

We walk back to the gateway the path feels less rough and there where we left them across the bridge Saffie and her black companion lay together.

We stand together on the other side the bridge now bathed in mid-day sunlight

She bids me to take note of the river.

It’s meanders slowly and smoothly beneath us.

We cross the bridge side by side.

I pick up my bag and she bids my to close the gateway I trace the edge with my blade. The bridge between the worlds is sealed.

My clothes are gone.

She hands me a cloak I swing it around me she fastens it.

We walk back home she stays by my side until I reach my garden gate by the canal.

Everything looks the same but somehow I know it’s all completely different.

I kneel before her thanking her for this journey this lesson.

She kisses me lightly on my fore head and hands me a small saffron flower she smiles and I watch the billow of her cloak in the sunshine as she walks back to the cross roads.

Thank you my lady I whisper as she turns the corner.

Cosmic Connections.

Look around we are all connected.

Sparks of the same flame.
Fragments, shards of the source of all.
Stardust of stars.
Drops flowing to the same ocean.
All of us. Not some of us.
Colour, creed, beliefs,
Good, evil, indifferent.
You can’t pick and choose.
All at different parts of different journeys.
On our way back home.
Divine experience, expression.
A tiny spark, microcosmic
Mind blowing.
Amazing you.
And me.
Us.
Love

Pit wheel turns

Gazing into the flames she sees the pictures that are there
Rocking slowly rhythmically in her old rocking chair.
Memories start to dance and flicker within the flames .
There amongst the burning coals she sees the faces and their names
Like a fiery cine film she sees the thriving old pit town
The sound of the mines whistle as the cage go up and down.
As it summons men to go underground and to leave their wives
While the pit wheel goes on turning like the seasons of their lives.
Alun and violet she smiles even their names seem to fit.
Black diamonds, coal face, blue scars, black lined eyes all delivered by the pit
He was a miner -a grafter -a good man and he was her’s.
Broad strong shoulders, dark hair blue eyes, with a wink and a whistle–warmer than the warmest furs.
She had worked in the post office and soon she was his girl.
They married in the chapel. Reception in the miners club. He had won himself a pearl
lads from the pit singing together the wives brought food and drink
they were a community, a family, the pit and shared hardships forming the link
They had saved and bought their cottage in the village, solid stone and thatch

Sash windows–sweet smell of rosemary and a vegetable patch
white sink by the garden gate smelling of rosemary.
He dug for coal all week and potatoes on a Sunday happy that it should thus be.
He’d take her to the club on a Saturday night. Wearing dresses she had made
The pit wheel turned, the miners mined and earned what they were paid.
She baked Welsh cakes and plate pies and watched as he taught the kid next door
how to fix his bike. Make a cart–and so very much more
He would have been a good dad but it was not to be,
so it was just the two of them–a small sad tragedy.
Caravan holidays-a small car visits to see her sister in the city. Life moves on.
The pit wheel stops–and suddenly all of it is all gone
A deathly silence–no whistle–no club and then, no post office too
She worries he will be lost. What is there for him to do
He still winks and whistles he fixes cars does the odd jobs he can find
She is still his girl they have each other, in that nature has been kind
The seasons turn and t
hey grow older, people move away–with no reason to stay.
The town seems to be smaller their lives grow smaller too
Same grey hair same blue eyes milky now with age, and the work scars are still blue.
She rocks as she cries silent tears watching–reruns of their beautiful life.
A successful combination–a loving husband and a loving wife
She thinks she’s hears a pit wheel turn the memory make her cry
She cries for him, h
e has just gone through the door no wink no kiss goodbye
He has turned off the light–forgetting she was sitting there
forgetting who she is and who they are and suddenly life is so unfair
She rocks closes her eyes–knowing she will remember for the pair

Raven Wordsmith 🖤

Show quoted text

Little Black Bird

Little black bird.

She was small tiny in fact.

She looked different.

So she was not one of them she didn’t belong. Hatched in the wrong nest.

The king of the crows had said her mother had been a visitor laying her egg in a nest in the huge yew tree here in the churchyard leaving it to be hatched by one of the kings mates.

Little bird had emerged small scrawny and different she didn’t fit.

The only thing about her that was like the crows she lived with was her colour.

She was blacker than the night.

Every day she was reminded that she wasn’t like them smaller not good enough she lived there but she didn’t belong there. But no one seemed to know who her real mother was or anything about her so that was that she had no place else maybe one day her mother would return and they would fly away together.

Now the king of the crows was big and mean she had learned not to upset him she would dodge the sharp elbow of his mighty wing his shrill caw and she had many scars from his sharp beak any chance he got he would jeer at her she had tried in the beginning to please him thinking that one day he may accept her. But that was not to be he didn’t want her in his flock but he wouldn’t allow her to leave. Still she never gave up hoping.

She helped where ever she could in spring she would collect straw hair and anything else to help build new nests sometimes a scrap of wool caught on the barbed wire by the farm gate.

That was as far as she had ever flown.

The wheel of the year turned.

She would sit on the gate and gaze across the fields she watched the seasons change the lambs grow into sheep, the trees and hawthorn’s bud and flower and the leaves fall. She wondered what was beyond the green fields one day she would be brave enough to find out.

For now she was content to live in the tall yew tree she would wait until everyone had eaten before she dared to look for what scraps were left she survived by living and blending into the shadows.

It was spring the morning sun was warm on her black feathers she had been busy building her new nest she had moved higher up the tree she didn’t seem to fit in the cozy small nest she had built last spring new eggs began hatched young were born and raised their gathering grew but not her eggs the king would not allow it he would fly into a rage smash her eggs kill her young tiny and vulnerable before eyes they didn’t stand a chance. No one in the gathering dared to challenge him for he was the king is word was law. Was she ever to be free?

.

Then one warm summers evening as she glided alone on a warm summer breeze she was startled by a whoosh of wind as a beautiful huge black bird flew past her.

She watched as he darted and glided this way and that his call was different louder deeper than the kings and his feathers were darker she followed him as he landed stealthy on an old oak tree on the other side of the farm gate..

He tilted his head looking at her

‘Where do you come from?’ she asked.

‘Across the farm beyond the mountains far from here.’ he said preening himself

The sun shone as they spoke of other worlds green valleys and oceans and the little birds heart fluttered.

‘Could I go to this place?’ she asked

The beautiful bird cawed and laughed. He tilted his head his eyes were brown and in them she saw a reflection looking back at her.

She let out a caw, louder and braver than she dared to in the church yard.

It sounded just like the big black bird before her.

‘Yes’ he said seeing the surprise on her face.

‘You can go anywhere, you are a Raven we are strong and brave warriors of our sky’s ’

‘Me a Raven?’ she laughed ‘‘yes you.’

Why are you nesting with the crows their king is not a good being. His heart is blacker than his feathers.

She nodded for she knew more than anyone this to be true.

‘But I don’t know where I truly belong’ she answered bowing her head.

‘Fly from here fly south look for the mountains and green valley’s there are others like us you belong anywhere you choose to nest.

‘Do not be afraid any longer you are brave and strong remember you are a warrior now if you doubt this look into the river at your reflection and remember me remember this day.’

She flew back to the woods cawing out thanks to the Black Raven.

The king crow was getting old now his eyes were failing and suddenly she realised he wasn’t bigger or stronger than she she looked at him with new eyes and the fear she had felt for all those years roosting in the yew tree began to leave her.

She puffed up her chest and cawed loudly as she flew down to the place by the river where her smashed eggs and young were buried.

She looked at her reflection.

I am a warrior she whispered a Raven.

Her heart banged in her Raven chest she felt a new strength she was no longer afraid lo leave.

in this small woodland that had been her home since she had hatched in the wrong nest.

Tomorrow was a new day a new beginning a new life.

She ruffled her feathers looked up at the ink black sky and the dark new moon a million stars twinkled above her and she slept.

The next morning the sun came up she drank from the stream and caught sight of her reflection again in the water a raven warrior with new determined look in her eye.

She was no longer the tiny bird the outcast who had taken so many beatings.

.

She cawed loudly. ‘Goodbye forest of my youth.’

Goodbye gentle winding stream and ancient yew tree f my ancestors thank you for my shelter and quenching my thirst.

She heard King caw a cruel laugh behind her.

‘Little bird’ he jeered. ‘Who do you think you are?’ ‘Where do you think you are going?’

‘I am Raven a warrior I am not your little bird I am mighty brave and strong that is who I am. Today I shall fly and find my own path far from here.’

The kings eyes grew dark flashing anger ‘You dare speak back to your king you defy my orders?’

‘You would choose solitude and loneliness this is your place.’

The other crows crowded and gathered around waiting in hushed silence for her to answer no one ever left this gathering no one ever left or defied the king.

Raven puffed out her chest and spread out her wings ‘I am not your little bird. I choose freedom’ there was a gasp from all who gathered as Raven circled for the last time above the small woodland that had been her roost.

The warm winds carried her south. Warm sun shone on her feathers and hope beat a drum inside her brave Raven heart.

She was free.to find her place in the world.

Raven Wordsmith 🖤

How I missed the end of the world


I had left my fleshy over coat of a body lying safely in my bed. This want unusual I did this most nights, orange glow of the salt lamp beside my head. Purring black cat curled beside my feet as the misty egg shaped craft enfolded me rocked gently as it carried my to the safety of the second road astral plane.

The misty egg dispersed revealing the beauty of this place which always made me smile.

I pushed open the squeaky mental gate stepped onto the winding path to my left a field of barley gently swaying in the warm breeze sound of grass hopers and salty smell of the ocean to my right is a beautiful meadow wild flowers scattered like paint on a canvas.

The path leads to my temple just before it stand two guardian yew trees and a tall slim man watching me walk towards him. He is leaning on a garden hoe tending the herbs that grow beside the temple doors.

Its Joe I smile as I reach him his sparkly blue eyes smile by themselves weathered leathery skin from all the hours tending the gardens.

He holds out his hand and hands me a key label tied with old piece of string reads time.

He pushes open the huge oak doors to the temple and I step into the cool hallway candle light flickers as I step into the small room to my left.

I undress and change into the red robe that is hanging there for me.

The stone floor clod on my feet.

I continue down the hallway holding the key.

Almost muffled sound of drumming an ancient beat steady and reassuring.

I reach the end of the hall way there in the archway of the old stained glass window overlooking the beach is an old woman gently humming a tune that seems so familiar?

As she hums she spins a silken almost glass like thread on her old spinning wheel.

As the thread catches the light it seems to throw off prisms of light pictures like old cine film. Of places I’ve been people I know, memories.

She smiles never taking her fingers from the wheel or slowing down and the thread spins on.

The pile of material she is spinning from seems to grow quickly smaller as I watch.

What is this I say crouching down beside it.

It reminds me of blown dandelion seeds, wishes?

It is so beautiful.

It is time my child she says as a single tear runs down her cheek.

I look at the keys label ‘time’

But your almost out of thread I say I have the key shall I get more for you to spin?

Everything has a begging and a end my child she whispers as the last piece of thread runs though her fingers and the wheel runs free.

There is a gush of wind she stands up before me and opens the clock she is wearing.

The lining of the cloak shines before me it is the universe our galaxy there is our blue planet circling our sun.

A pin like explosion sparks from it.

Then another and another. Until just like seeds from a dandelion it is gone.

She steps forward wraps her cloak around me and everything begins to spin.

Raven Wordsmith 🖤