Evening reflections.

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Tiny floating blossoms punctuate cool, blue water as I swim deliciously in the sky pool.
Towering sentinels far above catch the patterns of the declining sun.
Music echoes softly from bars and eating places cuddled below.
Sharp winged birds fly and swoop.
Towering black thunder clouds battle the sun, clues of what was once here.
Nature held at bay like the monkey leaping, its tiny offspring hanging below, for its leafy refuge at the guards approach, nature yet magnificent in her glory.
Europe dissipates amidst bright colours and resounding drums, vivid and resplendent.
Here in the quiet of the pool at days end, life pauses, suffused in blue sparkling water, soothing, calming the heat of the day.
The spirit imbibes.

Try the “done list”!

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Perhaps you are like me? I have a bad memory so “post its” and their occupying “to do” lists are ever with me and have been close companions for many years.

Yesterday however tired of the never ending little pink or yellow lists always at my elbow at my lap top, I decided instead to make my first ever “done list”. As I breezed through the day I jotted down relevant items I completed (leaving out the obvious, brush teeth, eat breakfast etc.) By mid day I was amazed at all I’d packed in (It was an average day, I didn’t make a special effort or anything). My perception of myself changed. I’d for a long while pictured myself as kind of lazy, as age took its toll. A glance at my list totally eradicated that notion! It was renewing! Why not give it a go?

Here’s my morning list (love to see yours too).

  1. Chill time to pray and meditate on God’s word (always a first on my list).
  2. Edited and posted a new flash fiction story on my blog.
  3. Wrote another section of my book.
  4. Picked up shopping and checked for movie tickets for a grandson treat.
  5. Picked vegetables at my allotment.
  6. Walked around the lake (about two miles).
  7. Made a healthy lunch.
  8. (My afternoon wasn’t as busy (I’m a morning person and take a rest in the early afternoon – a habit from living in the tropics) but it also had a few more items to add.

 

 

A Little Magic to Start My day.

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Thoughts from November 2014

Song Bird Songs

I had a surprise in store as I set off with my grandson, thick, white mist had shrouded the lakes, ducks and swans swam in suspended silver grey silhouettes floating magically in space as if in levitation. A goose rose on the wing creating dapples as defused sunlight beamed through in glory bathing all in a golden glow.
We both stopped awe struck. I don’t think I ever saw anything so beautiful. I wished I had my camera but realized a sight like this could not be captured by a mere lens.
Dropping off my grandson I returned soaking in the magic of creation as if walking in another world. Tree limbs contorted in green grey shadows like a primordial forest. I felt alone viewing the earth in its initial splendor, pristine, untouched. The gentle sound of lapping water added music to the ethereal background.

I wandered slowly breathing it…

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Enough!

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desk

He’d had enough, more than enough! He just wanted it to end. He looked morbidly at the pills, pills, to sleep, pills to stay awake, to offset his stress levels, pills to adjust effects of other pills. It would be easy enough, a beguiling inner voice said. But what of his family, his few remaining friends?

That’s the coward’s way out, he told himself. Whatever else he was, he was no coward! Besides he didn’t really want to die. He wanted to live. But this existence, this endless matrix he found himself in, this was not living; it was a slow and painful death. He glanced at his “prison” hanging in its immaculate plastic wrappings, the crisp lapels, expensive cut, to hide a slowly disintegrating physique. It defined who he was, restricting him to a role, (an ugly one at that).

Angrily he grasped the hanger flinging it aside. He eyed the pills. Hell no! Gathering them together he tossed them into the black steel bin beside his desk. Something stirred within, rebellion! There was no one to tell of his decision, the immaculate penthouse apartment was empty, devoid of life, but deep in his heart a flame had kindled. Ignited, it devoured the dross, enlightening his surroundings. He would live once more, and through him others.

He sipped his coffee, feet propped triumphantly on the creamy white desk veneer, as he watched the sun rise.

A Strange Physician.

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(from September 2014)

Song Bird Songs

oak tree

Leaves rustled in the early morning breeze, the trees seemed to quiver at her approach as if in sympathy. She had to go, come to her special place, the place she felt the comfort of eons.
Sitting beneath the old oak that had sheltered her as a child she let go, face in hands, sobs rending the silent stillness. When she could no longer hold on to her smile, when she felt the pressure build to an unbearable pitch she came here.
John was slowly wasting away and there was nothing they could do to stop it. His giant frame that had once carried her across the threshold was now worn and shriveled like a deceased nut in its skeletal shell, skin stretched over bone in lurid relief, a travesty of her man.

She had to smile for him, had to go on loving till her heart tore in tiny…

View original post 198 more words

The Mountain.

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(Flash fiction from June 2014)

Song Bird Songs

mountain

Looking upward he adjusted the loaded backpack. The mountain rose majestic  before him its pristine slopes green in the early sun. Tilting his cap he set off.

By mid-day slopes and dappled woodlands lay behind, the path ahead was steeper, rockier. The occasional hikers had vanished along with his mobile signal.  A strange isolation seized him, fear nibbled. Was this wise? Should he wait, join a climbing party?

No, this was what he had wanted, alone, above the confusion. Rebelliously he consumed a sandwich and trudged on. He became increasingly conscious of his surroundings. The rocks were not barren, tiny plants grew. He was not alone for birds carolled in passing and rodents rustled from his path. This was their world always, but today he would partake.

Joyous ripples announced a stream, leaping towards the waiting valley, cool and sweet. He emptied his bottle replacing stale water. He felt a…

View original post 251 more words

One Day.

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birds 4
Thousands of birds curve and soar in the sky above, like a rush of sound and colour they wheel to and fro interweaving their songs. The sky, a brilliant, deep blue fades into soft purples at the horizon as flocks weave in and out in giant loops of song. Their tiny hearts burst forth from within, with echoes of joy and praise, so heavenly I can only stand and watch.
The birds fly forth celebrating peace on earth at last, lending their praises to the creation bursting forth in splendor below, new buds, new beginnings.
Many come forth to watch their flight. Most not knowing what it means. It is creation’s celebration, the coming of the true millennium – “and the evening and the morning were the first day”.

A Strange Physician.

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oak tree

Leaves rustled in the early morning breeze, the trees seemed to quiver at her approach as if in sympathy. She had to go, come to her special place, the place she felt the comfort of eons.
Sitting beneath the old oak that had sheltered her as a child she let go, face in hands, sobs rending the silent stillness. When she could no longer hold on to her smile, when she felt the pressure build to an unbearable pitch she came here.
John was slowly wasting away and there was nothing they could do to stop it. His giant frame that had once carried her across the threshold was now worn and shriveled like a deceased nut in its skeletal shell, skin stretched over bone in lurid relief, a travesty of her man.

She had to smile for him, had to go on loving till her heart tore in tiny pieces, treasuring each snatched moment, yet unable to bare them.
They’d sent him home to die in peace, to DIE! How could she bare it? They’d walked this path together many a time, as children they had played together in these branches. Now soon all that was loved and familiar would be gone, only the tree would remain with its echoes of the past.
The Mayans say trees give strength, the ancient ones yet embraced by many for their healing properties. She didn’t believe such things. Yet sitting there, sheltered by her old companion, she felt a presence. A feeling of peace enveloped her as if the ancient oak knew something she did not. It had a strange sense of eternity that seeped into her. It knew of the seasons, the death of winter the joy of spring when the sap surged forth again bringing life to sleeping branches.
Somewhere in her heart she knew. This was not the end. There would come a time once more, though far off, when those strong arms would hold her again and love would kindle anew. Revived, re strengthened she took the path home a sad smile playing on her lips.