The Sound Words Make

She had a fancy new journal spread out on her desk and a not so fancy fountain pen in her hand. She wrote a sentence or two, nothing special, just to hear the sound of the pen against the paper.

She wasn’t thinking about her words. She was letting her troubled mind be soothed by sound.

Sometimes you think about what’s important and your brain floods you with answers, with hierarchies of answers.

But your heart? Well sometimes your heart just needs to be soothed by the sounds of the small things, like a pen leaving scratches on virgin paper.

Watching Him: a drabble

Watching him is like watching clouds in a blue sky. I never seem to be able to tear my gaze away. He has a hundred different expressions.

These days I mostly see worry, scrutiny. I am a mystery, a problem to solve, a puzzle to work out.

I watch emotions flit across his face like a thousand precious butterflies searching for nectar, for the sweetness life has to offer.

He is so serious now, until I touch him and he stops and his brown eyes soften and a shy smile moves over his face.

This is how he loves me.

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Summer Solstice, Avebury 2014

A Memory for Mother’s Day

this is a couple of years old but it’s one of my favourite “Mothering” stories

 

I married a bass player when I was seventeen.

He had such confidence. His presence filled a room. His laugh was beyond contagious. It cast a spell over you and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. He was sexy and funny and loved by everyone. I adored him. And I loved him long after we parted ways because we both left pieces of our hearts behind.

He was also one of the most talented musicians, singers and songwriters I have ever met and he gave me my little boy.

But this one isn’t about him really. It’s about me again.

One hot Oklahoma summer, a guy with a banjo and a guitar and a guy learning to play guitar and two hippie chicks, with long hair that would catch in the breeze and float like feminine banners to the Goddess, decided they needed a weekend in the country. We drove to Madill, Oklahoma. On a few acres of land was a dilapidated two room farmhouse belonging to the guitar player’s grandfather. We wandered the hills during the day, making grand plans of communal living with music and art and organic farming and ovens baking manna from heaven.

However, that night the two boys played guitar by the light of the moon and a few kerosene lamps while the chicks sang along. One of the songs they played was this one. They always played this one. The guitar player was a perfectionist. I suppose most good musicians are. The hippie chick with the long dark hair had a tendency to go a bit flat or run out of breath. It frustrated him.

So she learned how to stand perfectly still in the moonlight in a pair of low slung bell bottom jeans that dragged the ground, a thin magenta halter top that exposed her belly, her baby boy in nothing but a diaper perched on her hip with one hand reaching for her long dangling earring while the other pulled on her soft, straight Cherokee hair, and sing softly to the one being who possessed the most amazing ability to love her unconditionally.

And in that moment in a deserted piece of countryside under a moon filled, starlit night, with her baby in her arms, a shy mother sang to her little boy and the world could not have been more perfect.

 

 

 

 

Spin Me: a drabble

“Spin me,” she whispered.

Her words caught on the wind before floating away into nothingness, never making it to his questioning gaze.

She could lose herself in those eyes, had lost herself in that gaze.

Not on this day.

With a sad smile and a soft sigh she turned away and slowly began to spin and spin and spin until she was dizzy and giddy with freedom. Her laughter filled the rafters with song while doves beat their wings frantically looking for a way out.

She lifted her arms in devotion and let herself fall into the cacophony of sound.

21 April 2018
Sussex Coast, England

The Call [a drabble]

She had been dreading this appointment. Her steps were slow and leaden.

She sat across from him holding her leather satchel tightly in her lap. The lights were too bright. They were making her head throb and eyes swim in and out of focus.

One by one he pointed out every single dragon she would have to slay just to stay alive.

This call to adventure she would never be able to ignore.

She and her supernatural helper were breathing the same air but soon she would be alone and on her own with poisonous talismans flowing through her veins.