Time is a gift. How will you use yours?

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Having to spend a lot of time sitting with my foot propped up, while being frustrating (I’m an active type), is slowly bringing me to realise I need to evaluate my time. My goal on retiring was to write.
In my youth I was given a message, in a mysterious encounter, that my destiny was to write. At the time I was an artist and thought they must have got it wrong, but as I’ve grown older the idea of using what I’d learnt in a very full and diverse life to help inspire others has grown.
Other goals have been slowly added, studying health, growing my own vegetables, yoga, exercise etc. Then there’s helping others, my children and grand-kids, and sailing with the disabled, for a while I even added being part of a local “green” group but that proved to be too much lol.
All these are good things, but a bit from an Andrew Womack audio kept ringing in my head. He said, if you have more than one goal your efforts get too diffused. He recalled many good causes he could have gotten involved with and had encouraged others in, but how he had to stick to that he felt he was ordained to do.
I pondered this at the time recalling another old saying, “don’t let doing what is good keep you from doing what is best.” but then I shrugged it off – mistake maybe?
Now apart from watching movies writing is the only thing I can do and I’m realising how unfocused I’d become, just fitting in a bit here and there between all the other stuff. Not that I can’t do these other things but that they should revolve around my writing not vise versa.
Maybe my temporary injury has a silver lining.
Much love to all you fellow writers and thank you all so much for all your concern and continuous encouragement! It’s so good to find so many others like me.

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Ready. (written for a flash fiction competition on a theme of “Before the Gates”.)

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evacuation

“I’m not ready for this!” he yelled, as they rushed him through the field hospital. No one answered, just the syringe spraying its fountain of analgesic before plunging into his arm. They were taking off his leg for Christ’s sake! Strong hands held him down as he sank into darkness…

Light pervaded his eyes, as blinking, he re-emerged into consciousness. Panic surged. Grasping frantically joy erupted. It was there, solid flesh, without searing pain – the anesthetic? The strange thing was he was in his army fatigues and this was no hospital!

Before him stood monumental gates their scrolled iron work giving clear view. He watched as people thronged past. His side seemed strangely empty unbearably lonely, but within life thronged in happy abandon. He grasped at the iron work but a chain held it in place against him. He yelled to let him in, but they shook their heads smiling.

A familiar face wended through the throng.

“Dad!” Father smiled knowing his appearance heralded understanding. It hit Sam like a thunderbolt. Dad reached through the railing.

“It’s OK Sam, you’re not locked out forever, it’s just not your time yet.

“But… “

“It’s the anaesthetic, an allergic reaction, but they’re fighting for you. If they fail the gate will open. You’ll have your leg here,” he nodded down at the sound limb, no longer a shattered mess of blood and bone.”

“But what about Jan and the kids?”

“You’ll have to wait till they come…” The gate quivered, but he no longer wanted entry, he wanted Jan, to hold the boys in his arms, be there as they grew up…

Darkness enshrouded him once more, all faded to nothingness.

Harsh hospital lights invaded his eyes. The leg was no longer there. It didn’t matter, he told himself, it would be waiting. For now Jan and the boys were more important.