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.

The eternal walk.

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Time walks on unencumbered,
Naught can ease its steps
No barrier formed delay it,
It no tearful entreaty accepts.
Sometimes we are dragged on behind it
Sometimes we push to the fore,
But nothing my friend can dissuade it
I know for I’ve tried it before.
The wise will see where it’s heading
Prepare themselves for the roles
They’ll see where their feet will be treading
On sweet scented grass or hot coals.

Am I Time Obsessed?

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from September 2004

Song Bird Songs

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Me? I wouldn’t have thought so, but today my grandson and I took a longer ride to school going along the cycle path between the lakes rather than our usual back road route. It added a quarter mile and five minutes to our ride, but what a difference!
I took in the blue of the sky (I was free to look instead of anxiously watching traffic for two). On one side an immensity of green enclosed the wood land on the other the lake lay cool and calm as if drawing my heart out of dusty confinement.
My grandson’s usual grumbles that he was “too tired, hadn’t slept well, etc.” transformed into calls of “Gran look at that duck all curled in a ball” or “oooh what a cutie!” as a myriad of dogs sauntered by happily enjoying an early morning stroll. People smiled and said hello instead of frowning.

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Things I’d have Missed.

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from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

rainchild

I sat down at my laptop  this morning planning my day in usual manner (I’m an organisational type) when a whimsical urge led me to turn my schedule upside down, postpone breakfast, and start my day with an early morning walk to my allotment to get the lettuce I needed. It was raining – sensible to go later – but the child in me rebelled.

Setting off in mild drizzle armed with my China umbrella I further rebelled noticing a footpath sign I’d not seen before…

Not only did I get the lettuce, spinage and beetroot as planned but I…

1) Foraged the first wild blackberries along the way.

2) Discovered a beautiful, wooded, short cut to the allotment and supermarket by-passing the busy road so I could hear my music tapes.

3) Explored a cycle track and read its fascinating history (the remnant of a Victorian railway line).

4)…

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LIFE’S SEASONS. (from July 2014)

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last leaves

Days pass like leafed messengers floating on the breeze, quiet, silent, unobtrusive, they fall away revealing the bough on which they grew and growing had their day. The substance within was what nourished them. The rising sap of spring made the crowning leaves of summer, and now… now its autumn and the leaves gently fall carried on the wind.

Sap retreats for it feels the touch of frost in the air, but the branch remains, a limb of sturdy oak it yet defies the blast of winter. The tree stands still and silent in the forest. When the winds come it shall move and sigh forth its sounds in the gale. It shall give shelter, though lost forever it seems is that gentle running current within that dressed it so beguilingly in green foliage.

Once there were many leaves, now but few. Life’s autumn season is one of humility, yet this season reveals, hidden strength, grown by the living sap at work within. The dainty leaves couldn’t stand the frost but this bough can weather winters blast having grown supple in summer storms. It knows, deep within, the sap still resides. Unseen, unheard, it awaits the spring when again it shall burst forth in a flurry of leafed glory and rise up to the heavens to dress the leafy boughs in splendor. The sap has not gone, the tree yet lives. Its boughs now collect beauty of a different sort; more splendid than before as, dressed in white, it patterns the heavens.

It is in winter a tree is best seen, when nothing of vanity remains, just strong, lithe limbs reaching upward in defiance of the weights of earth. It is at this time that its power and beauty are revealed, a sight to stir the senses more than its former gaudy plumage. Winter is the true revealer of the tree.

Do not fear these passing days of leaves that seem to fade before you as they skim and dance in the wind. Without those leaves you can stand fearless in the wind. It passes through your empty branches and finds naught on which to take hold as you sway and dance in its presence, till one day, the sun arises and you feel a tingling deep in your roots. You know what it is, for you felt its coming before, the sap rises.

The Dream Master.  

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from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

beach

(Flash Fiction)

The class awaits the teacher, the beach smooth, serene. Waves trimmed with white lace splash upon the sand. He comes now. The crowd puts everything down to tune in to his coming.

Following his signal a young girl steps towards him. Taking her hand he leads her into the waves till the ocean stretches vast around them, serene and tranquil.

He splashes her in a playful game, the water making patterns in the air. It’s as if he can at will slow it down so all can watch the course of the tiny droplets. They look, mesmerized as light refracts rainbow colors on the dancing drops, patterns forming, fluctuating, cascading.

“Like life,” he says, “you need to slow down to appreciate it, even to see it”.

They stand watching the droplets in gentle motion, so pure a white.

“Things about you are fleeting, that’s why you need to…

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