The Rock had stood there for centuries, yet there was nothing like it local to the area.
On rainy days, it looked like it was smiling, or puckering up to kiss a passer-by.
Kids of yesterday laughed and said it resembled a masked Ninja Turtle, but that craze had long gone, and now adults, their own children referred to it simply as The Rock.
Continue reading at pensitivity101
Guarded
Sanity ebbs
Returns, flows free as the
Oceans are salted with
Hopes and dreams; joined
By tears
Continue reading at Jules Pens Some Gems
I never thought that I would say it. It goes against pretty much everything I hold dear. But, between a world turned upside down from the fallout of the COVID crisis, to my own journey through the treacle-paved and elephant-strewn path of cancer, I have begun to appreciate a single facet of life more than I have ever done so before.
Just being ‘normal’.
Where the virus is concerned, we are each feeling its effects in different ways… and whether it is the lack of freedom, contact with loved ones, fear of contagion or the practical problems of lost jobs and home-schooling, few, I think, will be able to say their lives have not been altered by this microscopic bug. The changes have crept in or been imposed, bit by bit… it seems as if there are new regulations being made every day. The uncertainties and questions keep on coming and all we can do is work with them.
With cancer, the uncertainties are also there, but they take other forms. From the moment of that first collapse, that first test result or conversation with a doctor… however you find out about that diagnosis… your whole world is altered in ways you may need time you no longer have in which to realise and understand.
The initial reaction is personal and will be different for everyone. My immediate emotion was utter relief. Now I knew what I was dealing with. Not some nebulous nightmare, but a concrete condition that could be faced and addressed, both as an ’entity’ in itself, in terms of its fallout on everyday life, and in how I, personally, could and would come to terms with the whole thing.
The first and worst thing is telling those you love. Watching their hearts break and knowing there is nothing you can do to help ease that pain… except stick around as long as possible for them, so they can live with the idea for a while. It won’t actually help… not really, not at the end… but it gives you time to be together, to share moments and say the things often left unsaid… and that is a gift.
…at least in years when you are not kept locked away from each other by a damnable virus.
Then it is borne in upon you that your life is no longer your own. It is held by the medics who make their decisions based on clinical and practical needs, rather than on how any of that impacts on your family, personality or any other facet of your life. And you go along with that, accepting these new terms of engagement. Because you need the time for those you love.
Little by little, so much of the control you have over aspects of your life is leached away. You may feel as if you have much choice in how your life is unfolding. So, when something does come your way over which you have a choice, you appreciate it.
For months, I’ve had to rely on help to do some of the most basic chores around the house. This goes completely against the grain with me; I have always been pretty self-sufficient in that respect. So, being able to get down on my knees and wash the floor the other day was a triumph. Changing the bedsheets becomes a victory of massive proportions, eating freshly baked goodies an act of reckless and rebellious independence. Having enough of a voice, after weeks without, to be able make a phone call…
It is in the smallest of things that I begin to see the major lessons of this particular, double-pronged journey. Because, when you think about it, life is made up of the small things… the little, everyday normalities and their quirks that we simply accept until they are challenged or come under threat.
Globally, we are sharing an uncertain journey because of the virus and there are parallels with those who are also dealing with serious illness. If we can find small ‘normalities’ in our days, familiar moments that remind us who we are, what we do and why, then we can reclaim a semblance of control in a world that seems to have lost the plot. Not only are we reclaiming bits of normality, by doing so, we are also standing up and saying ’no’ to changes we do not wish to see… and facing tomorrow in a way that upholds our belief in the future.
One thing is certain… this too shall pass, one way or another, and I would like to hope that those still standing at the end will have the strength and courage to reshape the future with common sense and compassion.
*
Flames consume endings
Ancestral rhythms flicker
Cleansing tomorrow
Each dawn brings a new story
Holding a gift at its heart
*
They emerged from their shelters. Some more guarded than others. The younger ones, of course, were more exuberant. They shook hands, hugged and kissed and breathed in the fresh air.
I squinted into the light and adjusted my facemask with my gloved hands. We had been told it was safe to come back above ground.
Continue reading at Iain Kelly
Reblogged from Jane Dougherty Writes:
In the hollow under-the-ground
stone-flagged whorled endlessly
the silence of five thousand years of night whispers.
No breath but moth souls
brush with papery wings this space
a womb cradling death in the dark
Continue reading at Jane Dougherty Writes
We had arrived in the north, checked in at our accommodation, and, after a coffee, as we still had a couple of hours to spare before we were all to meet, we decided to stretch our legs and explore a little of the village where we were staying. The pub in Beadnell, The Craster Arms, would have to be visited at some point, especially as it is housed in a sixteenth century pele tower, whose five-feet-thick walls were designed for the watch tower to warn of approaching danger, and as a refuge when it arrived.
With the Walk and Talk weekend ahead, we stayed clear of the inn; these things need to be approached with a clear mind. Instead, we admired the cottages and old manor houses as we headed for the rather unusual church. The tower alone was worth a look, sporting, as it does, an octagonal pierced stone screen at the base of the spire. But what struck us most was the arch of the door that was decorated with poppies and beside it flies a flag that reads simply, ‘Lest we Forget’.
It would be difficult to forget that this year marks the centenary of the Armistice, the end of the first World War. Across the country, poppies are blazing in every village church and by the roadside, in town and country, are silent silhouettes, the almost-lifesize representations of those who served in that terrible conflict. We had seen many of them on our journey, and they are deeply moving when you see these lone shadows in the green land they gave their lives to protect. “The war to end all wars” was just another chapter in the violent history of mankind, and it was sobering to reflect that our weekend would revolve around medieval structures whose primary purpose was might.
The church is dedicated to St Ebbe, a sister of the saintly King Oswald, whose relics had once been housed in the area. It is a fairly modern building, dating from 1746, with renovations in 1860. It was built to replace the original chapel, founded by St Æbbe herself in the seventh century, which had fallen into ruins by that date.
It is a simple, small church, exuding warmth from the pink-tinged stone and welcome from its door which, as far as we could see, even stood open at night, with the sanctuary light casting its glow through the stained glass of the east window. It would be a beautiful little place at any time and well worth a visit, but this year, the parishioners have done something remarkable as an act of communal remembrance.
Every window weeps poppies, each one hand made, knitted or crocheted, each one telling a story. There are red poppies for the soldiers who fought and died in the trenches and on the battlefield.
Continue reading at France & Vincent
I’ve drowned before…
Drowning comes in the form of waves. Eventually, when your ability to fight back has gone, even the smallest wave can make the difference and take you beneath the surface to a place of the unknown, and the shocks that entails.
Many years ago, I faced the inescapable collapse of the software business that two of us had spent eight years building from nothing. The business climate had nose-dived, and no-one was spending money in the sector that our products served. We went from healthy company to likely extinction in about four months. It seemed that nothing we could do made a difference.
It was likely we’d end up with nothing. We were going to drown.
Continue reading at The Silent Eye
*
We have to travel far and wide before we can comprehend this story,
but in psychological terms ‘Loki’ is straightforward enough.
He represents the shadow side of the personality.
*
In the Myth Cycle as a whole,
Loki’s binding brings on the destruction of the world,
but at this stage of the story he is introduced to us in all his ‘glory’.
*
Continue reading at France & Vincent
First in this week 🙂
Sue Vincent is the host of Thursday Photo Prompt
This week’s prompt ~ Guarded
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a pathway through the bracken of the moors towards a distant horizon crowned by a hill. The path is flanked by a huge rock…
➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰
This way to the treasures unknown needs a guardian
To watch over and let only the worthy pass unharmed
The rest are exposed to obstacles and challenges to test their resolve
Weak hearted give up in despair and turn back, defeated
While someone who knows the value of proving their worthiness
Emerge on the other side victorious and validated
➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰
#Keepitalive
#WritePhoto
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
