World's Slowest Firework



Last night:
Rain on glass panes keeps me entertained, in pattern, in percussion. The view is dissolving in drops and the descent of darkness. An awareness flares, catches the heart of me in a healing flame: I picture it like a Christmas pudding, safe and warm under a dome of ignited rum. Maybe it is merely sleep hormones, maybe not; thoughts and feelings flicker in a balanced performance of shadow and light.

This morning:
Baby brushes my hair with the wooden hairbrush. I have a bruised temple to prove it. Reminds me of the phrase ‘that will knock some sense into you.’ We harness Dog to the pram and walk around the block of fields. Here the hedgerows are magical habitats, winding with wild rose, tumbling vetch of many colours: so many flowers I have not time to name them all. I note how the rose expands: a shoot reaches up, flails in breezes until the weight of leaves and buds arc it back to earth, to pop open flowers, circlets of sparking colour: like the world’s slowest firework. 




Comments

  1. The Cranky24 June 2012 at 22:20

    Your prose is hypnotically rhythmic, like being rocked to quiescence by a magically semi-somnolent fae.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Author R. Mac Wheeler25 June 2012 at 15:38

    Hi

    Jumped over from Suze's blog.

    I find there's often a camera in my hand, too. Visit one of my Sunday Safaris *smile*

    - Mac

    ReplyDelete
  3. Jayne25 June 2012 at 21:08

    "...like a Christmas pudding..." Love the imagery here, Lily. Such a peaceful post. Just what I needed today. :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Anonymous25 June 2012 at 23:23

    The rain here today was lovely, leaving pristine water-swept sidewalks & glistening grass.

    Oh, I love the baby brushing your hair. Worth the bruise. ~Mary

    ReplyDelete
  5. Lisa Southard26 June 2012 at 13:13

    Thank you everyone- I shall be making return calls shortly- but being between houses do not have full use of internet so I might be a bit late- and my comments a bit rushed! Shameful really, when your comments are so lovely! :-)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Kim26 June 2012 at 14:18

    Oh my goodness - Suze did not lead me astray :) Such beautiful prose - I adore your description of a blooming flower as the world's slowest firework...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Lisa Southard27 June 2012 at 12:16

    Thank you Kim- Suze has marvellous taste- I was most pleased to discover your blog too!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

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

Popular posts from this blog

A Candle Lit

Image
We live by the light of those we love, whether they are here or gone. That light is inextinguishable. To have the light and not the company is an adjustment process we call grief. Loss is a shadow, equal to the light. We adjust not to lose the shadow but to see both. Hard to bear - yet without darkness, light cannot show its full wonder. Let us look after each other, then, and value our days, our company, and live to leave vast shadows, and understand that pain is a strange gift, a tender, haunting, purposed gift. And if you are grieving: let your tears flow, let your anger shout, let yourself plead and deny and feel terrible: it is not an easy process.  Know that other people know grief.  Know that other people are hurt to see you grieve.  Know that love is a fundamental response. There is no time limit to this adjustment process. No right or wrong way to feel. One day you will stand back and see that the shadow is proof to the strength of the light, a
Read more

Light On Our Feet With Good News

Image
Friday 23rd April 2021 We go into Launceston town, park in the long stay because all parking is free until May 17th (when the hospitality industry restarts). We are early and Mr’s knee hurts so we pick a charity shop without stairs; Mr buys a faux leather jacket, I pick out a summery top. Bargains curled in hand as neither of us has a bag, we find our way to the office and ask for our trainee solicitor, a young chap in a slouchy silvery suit. He comes out of a meeting, nervous, finds an empty room, and we follow him in. There’s a big blue folder of searches and enquiries which we look through, young chap jabbing a finger at relevant bits, his hands are not steady. We think the paperwork is probably satisfactory but this is new territory so it’s all leap of faith stuff - deep breath, take up the pen, sign. We leave the signatures, take the folder, and our bargains, go to Barnecutts and choose a bun each. I pick a plain chelsea, Mr goes for a rocky road. Celebratory carbs that we c
Read more