Saturday, 31 January 2015

Etched on skin

 Red scars now faded with time to silver; meander like contours across my body. They map the years of openings and re openings; of harsh lights, soft voices and blue scrubs. The sting of anaesthetic and the hand of a stranger; as tubes pushed deep into veins, and sutures tugged at soft flesh. 
In the aftermath, when poisons ceased to seep into every cell, and syringes no longer a part of daily routine; I began to reclaim this tired body moulded by circumstance and surgeon's scalpel; becoming familiar with new curves and old wounds. 
Five years from the cold realisation of a hard lump under probing fingertips; I have taken control - etching upon skin a design of my own choosing, to tame both scars and memories; the sting of needle and ink a mere ghost of what has already been.
 A lotus now blooms along my spine, with hamsa to ward off further ills... realigning chakras and letting in light once more..... A fitting ending to a dark episode.

Monday, 19 January 2015

Cold snap

Jack Frost has sent his icy breath curling round the garden; setting grass in stiff spikes, and icing every hollow. Filigree patterns etched on each leaf and frond hold their own delicate beauty; whilst the ghosts of spiders webs hang still in shadowed corners; frozen mid decay.

All is quiet and still; the birds still roosted in litchen lined nests, or perched on power lines; feathers plumped against the cold.

A sudden flurry upsets the peace, as reluctant cats tumbling into the morning air, breathe soft mist and startle as paws contract on cold flagstone; causing a flexing of feet and mad scrabble to retreat back into the warm......

.....and I, with cheeks pinched and joints slowly stiffening ; swathe myself in cashmere wraps and woollen mittens, ready to step into half light of a day not quite begun, to embark upon the early morning commute.

Friday, 2 January 2015

Out with the old

Last night, the wind howled round the house like a dragon unleashed; chasing away cobwebs and the final vestiges of an old year fraught with the destructive forces of a raging sea. 
We inside, who battened down the hatches to shelter in warm darkness; listened to rain lashing against the panes; cleansing and purifying our groaning timbers that have held strong through tempest's eye.

Now is a time for calm; to clear away the debris of this storm just fled, leaving a mere ghost of itself in the brittle leaves haphazardly scattered on rain soaked lawn; and splinters of heartwood  embedded in soft flesh. 

 We will once more fill the rooms with soft light and tend to smarting wounds; a little more wary, yet ready to brave the next wave that is sure to break.