Here we are again, it’s Monday, the sun is shining, every reason to feel optimistic…
But I don’t. Somehow, I fell off the enthusiasm wagon over the weekend. Not sure why, for there didn’t seem to be a reason. Maybe I just needed to chill out for a bit.
Trouble is, today, I can’t seem to find that bloody wagon!
I have been feeling a little uneasy lately, but nothing I could put my finger on. Just enough to make my thoughts wander. I need to be more organised, have more work scheduled, already written, that sort of thing. This simply must happen if we want to move on, or up in the writing world.
Marketing has been a bit of a non-entity this year, and for the life of me, I cannot remember when it stopped being at the top of our must-do list! These days there are so many things going on, it has become difficult to string several thoughts together in order to trigger the creative process.
Apart from the garden, which does see me occasionally. More duty than inspirational though, despite managing to grow our first tomatoes, as they must be watered. But for those few minutes, as I wander around spraying water, something magical happens and I come back inside in a much better mood.
Now the weather is getting warmer, I think I will be working/writing outside. I’m not sure if this is where the enthusiasm wagon is parked, but it’s definitely not in my office!
Today, two of the children were visiting, bringing their talk and laughter. It was a day of chatting of everything and nothing, of singing and laughing and playing with dogs and cats, of walking up through the fields on tracks left by the harvesters following scents and listening to the quiet.
Some things I never tire of, the birds, the sky, walking with the ones I care about, and listening to the world turning slowly on its axis beneath the sun and the stars.
There’s a song thrush singing in the poplars
as the sun goes down,
and the willows are full of warblers
with a few last quiet words.
The sky’s adrift with cloud boats,
grey-hulled with sails of white,
and the blackbirds croon a lullaby
to resign us to the night.
Written for: Sunday Muse #217
On this mountain, magical moments take place. No one else knows about this space. Just me. One night I was able to swim across the night sky. Didn't tell anyone. Tonight the moon is full of smiles. I am catching moonbeams on my magical mountain. http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/
I am thinking of changing the name of these Sunday images,
for these lovely, playful horses don’t exactly say silent, do they?
Wishing everyone a very happy Sunday, whatever you want to call it…
That lovely productive mood that I have been basking in lately, took one hell of a tumble yesterday.
We had already started with some of the bad news a few days before but managed to cope.
Yesterday, the full force of the meaning of bad, hit us with both barrels.
One by one, and spread over the course of a week, four members of our family have been hit by the covid virus. Two of them are quite vulnerable, which was even more worrying.
Then came the news that our only breadwinner’s wages this month turned up with several hundred pounds missing. Turned out to be a clerical error, but no chance of amending this until next month. We are not a wealthy family, constantly robbing Peter to pay Paul, if you know what I mean. My sister and I are pensioners on a permanent budget, so looking to help replace this shortfall took some doing, and will involve rationing everything for a few weeks.
Drama taken care of, I couldn’t relax. What if the error wasn’t corrected next month? I had visions of us all sharing a tin of beans and/or going hungry.
This morning, the mood seems to have lifted. The sufferers are fighting the virus and feeling much better, thank heavens! We have also managed to convince ourselves that all will be well and the money will be reinstated next month.
Writing was the last thing I wanted to do yesterday, and that didn’t help my mood either… but today already feels more positive on that front, so I already have my happy hat on!
In the alcove she sips dark coffee, her eyes sting from cigarette smoke permeating the cafe. Still she is compelled to search the tree lined boulevard where branches become hawks, their whistling wings a silky blue. Few faces can be seen theough the mist but the sweet language of lovers fill the air.
Submerged in those warm sighs soundless tears overflow in silvery streaks.
He gently tastes the salt on her lips, still burning from the kiss of yesterday’s lover. Sweet blossoms leave a crush of salt on his tongue. The splendor of her thighs, the shape of her milky white breasts is a dim memory now.
Without a goodbye a rose is placed into her open palm to fade over time like the color of love.