Tag: creative writing

“Someone is caught outside in a storm”

Back into the Box

As above so below, as within so without. I keep reciting the hermeneutic principles in my head. Over and over and over again. As the universe so the soul.

I snort; involuntarily spraying rain water. Right. Now I am gargoyle waterspout. Hear me blubber! The universe’s responds for the soul, my arse! Well if not the universe so at least the local weather front that haunted my lunchtime walk. I tried to escape. I would say I tried to outrun it, but who am I kidding a lame duck who just had lunch could outrun me and that’s on a good day. I am getting pelted now. Soaked to the bone. I don’t feel it though. I am still walking, yes I have not yet even turned around back home. I will walk until the thunder within has calmed as the thunder above. I will walk until I can feel my skin again. I will walk until the rage abides, until I put the image of the narcissist back into a black box. I might imagine a couple of swords stuck through the box like in a magic trick. Anything to hold her in place and stop me from calling and give her what she wants attention. The universe responds to that image is a sudden whiteness. For a fraction of a second I can’t see anything but light and then the world booms and an oak tree falls.

Sleeping Dragons

Black and white striped toe-socks
Rest on the window sill
Dragons sleeping on the other side of the bay
They have been there for eons
Their rocky scales rounded by a sheet of ice
Sharp edges from erosion

Photos of black and white striped socked feet on old fashioned window sill looking across the bay

It’s time to wake sleepy heads!
I send my thoughts
Tumbling through the stormy day
Smoke rises from their nostrils
Slowly banding round and round the hills
Until it raises into low hanging clouds

You say: it’s mist
From a rainy day
I say: it’s the dragons wakening
Their eons of rest are over
Earth heating too quickly now
Making them stir

Beware dragon riders
Your time has come

low clouds rolling on mountains in the Scottish Highlands, photo taken from across the bay looking towards the mountains Watermark @storyfae

Might be Sweary

A lunch time walk

belligerent sharp edges dig into the soles of my feet
trail-runners my arse
not designed to withstand the gravel part of my lunchtime stretch
I go into a one legged fold over position my yoga teacher would be proud of
as I wrestle the annoying little bugger out of my shoe
digging with my pointer finger until I got it
snipping it away
only to be in the same situation again five minutes later
this is my favourite stretch though
gnarly ancient hawthorns line the path
distorted branches creating rune like shapes
it stinks of dog poo always at the same spot
I cuss the owner as usual and walk quicker
finally I can take a deep breath again

close up of white hawthorn blossoms surrounded by green leaves

Along the Pathway

Anis dominates my walk.
Not the actual plant, the scent.
Wild fennel galore.
Legions of hopeful seeds.
Pushing aside the gentle meadowsweet,
towering over ribwort plantain,
and even vivacious nettles don’t stand a chance.
Flowering brambles wind around fennel stems
–striving for rare Scottish sunshine
Fragile blossoms with pink hues attract furry helicopters
with heavy yellow Jodhpurs on their hind legs.

Close up of bramble blossoms

I don’t want to write

Because my voice is not heard
I send outpourings of love
Into the ether

Maybe they don’t reach you?
But maybe the reach AI
And teach the future

Because your voice is not heard
I write
And send outpourings of love
Into the ether

So that you know
You are never alone
In this world of ours
We all belong

But I don’t want to write
Because
What’s the point
Of one drop of water
Within the ocean