Down in the meadow where the wind blows free

If you listen,

very carefully,

you might hear the trees.

Drop your senses beneath

rush of wind through leaves,

and you may hear their whispers.

Moist, oxygen-rich words,

that float-caress your body,

hoping to bind to mind,

but falling,

most often,

on ears clogged with 21st century space-gunk.

…

I hear trees,

when I choose to listen.

They don’t have

much to say,

they have not

blown me away

with wisdom,

with secrets.

But apparently,

they are

very,

very,

‘Thirsty!!’.

Nice places

Some things,

are out of reach,

for now.

I like to go

to nice places.

At

least

I

can

do

that.

Same, but different

Stuck

I just found my old notebook. To do lists, addresses, and diary notes, are contained inside the purple cover. Those lists, addresses and diary notes are from my old life, from a time of happiness, before it went bad. I peep at some of the words, they were written whilst on our big trip around the country. My oldest was just six months old, and his eyes still that uncanny blue that made strangers stare and smile, when we set off for some of the remotest parts of the planet. As I digest my own words, I recall the way I felt on the day I wrote them…I remember how we seemed unstoppable.

My heart beats faster, it pounds inside my head, tears sting my eyes, and I have to slap the notebook pages shut. It’s like this for me these days, a place, a picture, a person, a taste, can rocket me back to that past-life. Nostalgia eats at my insides, making me hollow, and numb to the now. Moving forward is so hard when the past sticks-fast to your legs, like cobbler’s pegs.

Wind-whipped

I watch sailboats in the not-so-far distance as they float-lurch from open sea to more sheltered destinations. Wind whips off the ocean up the cliff, into the sword-edged grass, making it Medusa, and flips my hair into my mouth.

It’s a sunny day, and the world has time for sailing, I can choose to pause and admire the view. But I sit in the lap of a ghost who watched for midget-sub and warship. I inhale deeply the echo-scent of his Lucky Strike, and I know, nothing is forever.

Luckily we were headed in the other direction