The dead don’t talk, they don’t play games They walk through doors Somewhere a chain to bind them to time Over time the stories have grown To keep the local boys from playing in the old mill House Many have entered and never returned The towns folk say it should be pulled down The sea has tried to reclaim the old mill house It stands perilously at the edge of the land If you visit the grave of Tommy Wilson You lose the power of free will To plead with your mind would be useless You enter the old mill house, never to be seen again… ©AnitaDawes2022
The Mountain Imagination writes the tale I tell on this dusty road I stood captivated as I observed the glimmering light I walk forth, knowing there could be endless possibilities With the sun setting, the mountain lay under a pink cloud I was finding it hard to believe my own eyes My personal belief now suspended I stood in front of an unidentified flying object wondering at the mind of the engineer I have never seen silver so polished, no nuts or bolts A small door slid open, I blinked There she stood, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen She beckoned, without hesitation I walked to her Knowing I would leave this earth, And go wherever she would take me… ©AnitaDawes2022
Image from Pixabay.com
Continued from last week… Part One HERE
I wondered how I could be rid of her nagging I exhale, pretend to listen There was a change in the air As though something had opened up The break in the path we were walking looked dangerous Somehow, she made it across Had I missed my chance to nudge her over the edge? No, I still needed her mind to find the legendary pot of gold I shake myself, hoping to rid myself of the bad thoughts I had no choice but follow her lead Going home having failed, was not an option Listening to her going over the clues I remembered the walks we went on when we first met each other She had great style in those days I watch as she lights the fire for the night Wondering if we were chasing rainbows I fell asleep watching the old fort throw shadows across the land Hoping the search for the end would come soon… ©AnitaDawes2022
Side effects, really?
After such a dreadful October, for so many wrong reasons, this month is fast behaving like the perfect autumn weather. Damp and misty, with chilly spells and brief bouts of welcome sunshine.
Of course, this meant I had no excuse for staying indoors but to at least try to clear the shambles outside the back door. I spent over an hour out there yesterday, but it will need several more visits from me before winter sets in.
We are still trying our best to recover from the covid virus, but the lingering aftereffects are in many ways worse than the virus. Apart from the general weakness and all the aches and pains, I seem to be having weird hallucinations too. At first, I thought my vision was playing up, but it kept happening, and I saw vague people shapes and small animals going up the stairs or passing me around the house. Sis has developed vertigo, which is most unpleasant. These are both real side effects and can last for months. We won’t be sorry to see the back of them, and the sooner, the better.
We pray we don’t get this virus again, and our booster shots are already booked.
I was determined to make some headway in the seriously cluttered office, too, weird visions notwithstanding. I have been trying to conjure more enthusiasm, which, I hope, will grant some much-needed inspiration. I actually gritted my teeth and looked at the current WIP, and surprisingly, I was pleased by what I saw; so very happy about that.
All I need now is to find where my get up and go is hiding, so I can get back to it.
(and a little normality would be wonderful!)
Continued from last week. HERE
Trying to remember what I knew about St Germaine Like clockwork, my thoughts kicked in He was a wealthy man, into the occult Many thought of him as a second Jesus I hoped to find the secret documents written by him, and the book I searched for They say he is a man who knows everything, who never dies But where are these documents now? Turning back to the altar, I wondered who had placed the camellias I had trampled on. Were they a clue to the keyhole I needed to find? It felt like I held an ancient charm in my hand Mice ran around my feet, mingling with the chaos of this place I wondered where the strong smell of peppermint had come from There stood a young lady in her twenties, slim, some would say fairylike She spoke first, “I thought I was the only one who had dibs on this place, are you looking for something?” For a moment, wondering if she was real, I couldn’t speak The key felt hot in my hand I answered, “I was walking when I found this place.” Having exhausted my search for the keyhole, I thought it lay elsewhere I didn’t want to tell her why I was here With the amount of rubble on the floor I should have heard her walk away It seemed she had vanished, leaving me mulling over her last words “You never know what you could find in a place like this.” With no keyhole, my search goes on, wondering if she was real and what she might know about this place… ©AnitaDawes2022
A single key hung from the ceiling The room filled with the colours of a rainbow The church had been derelict for years I was transported by a single thought Suspicion rose like a frozen hand at my back The mediums could be right about the curse on this old sacred place No time to elaborate now I shuffle forward the small distance towards the altar Remembering the key above my head After making the sign of the cross I climbed on to the altar, snatching the key Now all I needed was the keyhole To find the treasure hidden in Rosslyn Chapel My search continues, no keyhole as yet I am not the kind to give up I will find the book of St, Germaine… To be continued ©AnitaDawes2022