Saturday, 22 November 2014

Escape into the rain









The rumbling sound of the thunder reached out to her, echoing in her ears and head, making her feel very different to the old woman she knew she was.

She waited for it to come again, revelling in the distant power that even at this distance vibrated through her body. Maybe it would come closer, she thought. Most of the time it faded so quickly, hurrying to escape to somewhere else. She always hated it when it did that. Almost as though it knew she was waiting and was deliberately trying to get away from her.




A blinding, split second flash of lightning lit up the sky, and she waited, counting the seconds. Usually the distance grew greater, but after five or six seconds the rumbling sound returned, turning into a tumbling, rolling noise that thudded all around her.
She could feel the power of it, and something deep inside her matched the vibration and saluted it. 

She held her breath. Would it get any closer? She prayed that it would, for only when the sound of it deafened her, the wildness and the power waking something that lived deep within her, did she feel truly alive.




She had always found solace in Nature, whether it was a garden, a forest, a wild, churning sea or the simple beauty of flowers. The feeling that she truly belonged was never too far away, no hiding or pretence to try not to notice or feel.
Sometimes in those precious moments, she felt as though she would melt and soak into the ground, to vanish completely and be no more…
                                            .............................................................

check out this weeks post from Jaye here , really lovely piece...



Friday, 14 November 2014



This week we have been doing quite a lot of listening, but unfortunately, not much else.

Normal service will resume after the weekend...

Friday, 7 November 2014

White Poppies







When I saw white poppies among the red, I found myself thinking of the white feather they used to give to men years ago, who came up short in the bravery department. Curious as to why they were there, I investigated further and discovered they represented peace, and not intended in any way to be an insult to all those brave soldiers who died on a battlefield. I was glad to read that. Well, these days you never know what they will come up with next, do you, what with all the different coloured ribbons for this and that.


White poppies first appeared in England in 1933, to remember the casualties of all wars. They are a pledge to peace, that war must not happen again and are a symbol to challenge the continuing drive to perpetuate the idea of war. 
I was born during the war, and my father died in France before he ever had a chance to meet me. When those scarlet poppy petals fall from the ceiling in the Albert Hall every year on Rembrance Sunday, I acknowledge that one of them is for him. I think he would have loved the idea of the white ones too.



This week I have been watching the television mini-series ‘The Passing Bells’, written by Tony Jordan, and really enjoying the way the writer has portrayed the two young soldiers, one English and one German during the First World War. At first glance, it appears as one war, one country and one people, and the similarity of the opposing sides is profound.
The writer has removed the language barrier, leaving very little clue as to who is who or where they are, cleverly emphasising how alike we all are. At times a little confusing, but it leaves you in no doubt that all wars are senseless and must be abolished.

Poppies are beautiful, as all remembrances are, but maybe it is time to stop glorifying all the killing.