Flight Path


Yesterday pen was not put to paper, nor fingerpads to keyboard. Sentences wriggled compulsively from behind distractions: I held them briefly in my mind, admired each form, let them fly into heavy rains. We aquaplaned to work and back. Thursdays are busy. We eat our evening meal in a lay-by; the hedge trees shake water all over the car, show us a picture of the world made of splodges.

Today a tide of cloud rolls in and the trees sway in wind currents. I have the picnic table set up in what will be our spare room, office and storage space. I am acclimatising to this new horizon. Some frustrations still, of what will and will not fit. 



Mr is in the kitchen teaching his drill some dreadful language. Boy is in his bedroom, keeping it tidy. Dog flops as though abandoned, waiting on a walk.
At the old place I could sit by the window while my thought process travelled along the valley out through the mountainous moorlands. Here I have not yet learnt the direction in which thoughts will flourish best, that is all. That the flight paths exist, I do not doubt. 


Comments

  1. Suze22 June 2012 at 20:58

    Your last sentence made my eyes sting with pleasure at your words.

    Thank you for your insightful comment over at my place, today, Lily.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Stephanie V23 June 2012 at 00:02

    What lovely views you have from that window. You always put words to feelings that I never knew I had.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Teresa Cypher23 June 2012 at 01:33

    Wow, Lily. The view is beautiful. I wonder how long ti will take. Seems it is never a conscious decision--the inspiring view, the direction in which the muse dwells. Glad you are chugging along!

    ReplyDelete
  4. unikorna24 June 2012 at 15:07

    You should direct your creative thoughts to imaginary places where everything is possible :). I really love your words :).

    ReplyDelete
  5. Lisa Southard24 June 2012 at 19:52

    Thank you lovely people :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here:

Popular posts from this blog

Warmth In Winter

Image
8/1/22 Saturday Arrived at work via the Hospice Charity shop donation site, having made a push to clear space in the home office/storage room. This is part of our tussle to become tiny-house-ready, therefore it counts as land journey progress.  I showered this morning and, wary of cold creeping in, had my wet hair shoved inside a woolly hat; glad of the warmth as I was dashing through rain to gift a pile of picture frames.  At work: Outside the rain is sloshing. We can hear some sort of banshee wind. Dark drops suddenly. I’ve let my hair down, it’s still damp. I ate the last leftover Xmas satsuma and made tea from the peel. I’ve checked moon cycles for the best pruning dates.  I’ve ordered myself a superb raincoat and it’s out of stock. 9/1/22 Sunday Zipped to work hopeful of collecting driftwood on the way down but time and weather gently gathered into a Not-Today. On the way home I notice the absence of Xmas lights- usually someone forgets- and think fondly of how the inflatable San
Read more

Poop And Slow Progress And Yule Is Done

Image
1/1/22 Saturday Last night just before midnight, Mr & I strolled down the dark lane, wine glasses in hand; spotted constellations, watched distant fireworks. This morning Dog had done several splats of foulness on the living room carpet. HNY! Also this morning: In bed, chinking coffee cups, we say- what will this year bring? We hope it’s a track and a toilet shed. On the way to work, I stop for a walk at Carlyon Bay. Far from frosts, a warmish wind blows, the sea is a stirred milky blue, the air damp. At work, I eat chocolate and mince pies and a bag of spinach.  2/1/22 Sunday 5am: Dog does dusty poop in the kitchen. Mr rises and mops. 7am: Dog arrives in our bedroom, she’s not sure why. I rise, briefly, relocating my snooze to the recliner chair while she settles on the sofa. 8am: coffee in bed, reading gardening books.  Not looking at the clock: walk before work, around the lanes in the unseasonably warm grey fuzzy air. No snowdrops to be seen, only the plucky wild strawberries t
Read more

Winter Rest And Feast

Image
Let winter be winter, be ice and fallow. Let yourself be settled, wrapped in warmth.  It need not take all of the months; it may only want a moment of your focus, that part of you that needs to seclude. Then, bring your plate to the feast. Be satiated. Feel it radiate.  Listen to your heart, listen to all of the hearts that beat and want nothing unreasonable, only to be heard.  Use the long nights to dream. This is not a luxury.  Light a candle, let yourself see from the flame to the shadow.  Ask yourself ‘Where is my hope?’  And there your feasted, rested soul begins the work.
Read more